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Your mind is a prison that you are stuck in solitary confinement with. The only voice being the one in your head, taunting you.
The cerebral cortex is incontrol of creativity. Your mind can be so 'creative' that it creates its own fantasies and terrors. Your cerebral cortex creates movies in your head which consist of being a fantasy or terror, dream or nightmare. Not only can your cerebral cortex make up these movies, it can also make you relieve moments in your like.
My body shoots straight up, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. My skin coated in a thick layer of sweat, I throw my blanket off from my body. The room is so dark that when I walk around trying to find the lightswitch, it's as if I am blind.
My hands search the walls for the little switch, once I find it I flick it up and light fills the room. My body immediatly starts to relax once I see I'm alone.
Last night Damien never came to get me to start looking for the kid. Knowing with my family, we always stay true to our words and if you don't something big usually happened to stop us.
The clock on the nightstand read six fifteen, I already know I won't be able to go back to sleep. I go ahead and change out of my sweats and into black leggings and a lacey black halter top and heels.
I make my way down the hall to the bathroom, the lengthy halls are dimmly lit. No sound is heard, I assume I'm the only one up or atleast awake in the building.
I lock the bathroom door and search the drawers for a boxed toothbrush. There is a whole drawer of different colored boxed toothbrushes. Once I brush my teeth I slick my hair into a ponytail. I can't help but frown when I realize I'll have to go bare face due to not having my makeup.
It's not like I put pounds of makeup on, I usually just go light.
From outside the door I hear as multiple heels clicking in the halls. I crack the door open and a smile grows on my face, a large rottweiler runs down the hall towards me. It's tongue flops of the side of its mouth as it gallops.
It gets up of two feet and its paws go to right below my shoulders. I am tackled to the ground by the big dog.
I wheeze when the dog lays ontop of my, resting its head next to my neck.
I wiggle my arms from underneath the hundred pound dog, and tap his forehead.
"Wanna get up?" I whisper to the dog.
The dog whines just as footsteps in the distance start getting closer.
"Nikita!" a deep voice calls out, Damien.
I tilt my head so I can see around the dog, Damien wears black sweatpants hanging low on his hips and no tee.
"вверх," Damien orders. [Up.]
The dog responds, getting off from my body. I plant my palms on the floor as I get up for steadiness. I wipe some of the shedded hair on my clothes off.
