Children of The Night

The Wait

Adoringly dedicated to loversofthelost_

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The world is always spinning. It never stops, not until his head slams against the bed. Then the sounds erupt.

Echoing around his room, he doesn't need to lift his head to know what he will see, the

Colours have already begun exploding behind his closed eyes. He can feel their feathery touches across his arms, sliding up his legs, the temperature rising. Shadows painting his curtains.

Begrudgingly he lifts his head, breathing picking up, because the fear refuses to settle down, even after all these years, it's become a routine. He needs to look out the window now – the open window that's letting all these creatures in – a window that he knows is drilled shut. He can't ever describe what he sees, like a dark cloud of smoke taking up the entire space, once he's captured in its web, the scene changes. He can't move. Strapped to his bed.

There's someone calling out to him from outside. banging against the window, a hand reaching out from the mist, he believes it's his sister, calling for help.

Grunts and wails escape his pursed lips, trying to call out to her, to run. To run from the thing haunting him.

Please, Please just leave! This isn't real, I need to focus — Don't touch my face, don't touch anywhere!

He's practised how to get through this, his nightmares, and every night he fails.

Don't look at it, he tells himself, deciding to stare down at his hands, begging his fingers to move, even the slightest of flinches would be rewarding. Dizziness takes hold of him as his eyes blur, his consciousness choking on its tears, while his body's tugged towards the thing.

He waits for the pain to hit, the pain of losing his hand, while the rest of the creatures attach to the rest of him with their sharpened claws. It's always calm before the storm.

By some twisted work of fate, he wakes, letting out the screams he held onto. Doors slam, hurried footsteps barreling towards his room, kinder hands holding onto him, running their fingers through his hair, as he sobs against their chest.

And as he has always done, he takes a brave look over his sister's shoulder, relief washing over him when he sees the closed window. There's no way for anyone to open it, for anyone to get in, and he knows that, and for just a moment, he believes it.

He can hear her calling for him, but he's not done inspecting the room yet, not till he knows how much time there is left, so he can plan his day around it, before night falls and the world begins to spin.

He's not a patient person, but pretending to be one while his mind is occupied with darker thoughts, hurts him more than what his mind makes up. He swears that little by little, the things are getting stronger, coming out even when the sun is up, they're mocking him, running past him, hiding right as he turns around to find them. The faster they all breakthrough, the faster the cycle would finally end. He'd finally have a good night's sleep.