WRITING CONTESTS, original works

A Bad Dream (Fan-Fic)

Contest: FanFic - #JustWriteDay

Prompt: You are a fan of one of the famous characters. One day you read/heard the news of their death. What will happen to you then? How will you react when you wake up and learn that this was all just a dream?

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THE DAY I HAVE dreaded for years has finally come - the utterly final death of my favourite character on the widely adored CW television show Supernatural. It's something that I've honestly tried not to think about since he was introduced in the third season, but the times I had thought about it made me downright miserable.

Scrolling through Facebook in the early morning after the American showing of Supernatural, several days before the Australian showing, caught me off-guard when I saw the familiar burnt wings etched onto bare dirt ground, the angel blade piercing his chest and his mouth parted in a silent scream, eyes half-closed and arms splayed out to the sides of his body from when he collapsed to the ground.

Forcing myself upright and out of the comforting warmth of my bed, the cold morning air douses my flesh like ice water and sending whole-body chills through my muscles, seeming to embody the internal chill from this news. Scrubbing the sleep from my eyes, I desperately scan over the relatively recent post for any chance that this is but a mere prank by the American Supernatural fans - but my hope is not rewarded.

My eyes begin to burn and my stomach feels as though it has been struck by a powerful blow, pain and anguish traversing my being and my heart shattering. My phone slips from my numb fingers and lands on the cushioned bed as my hands move to clutch at my chest, burning tears breaking free as I squeeze my eyes shut and my body folds in half, chapped lips parted in my own silent scream and pleas for him not to be dead repetitively chanting in my mind.

My legs pull up close to my chest from under the warm covers and my body tilts to the side, falling until it rests atop the covers and the cold eats away at what warmth still remains. A soft meow from the grey-brown cat on my bed makes me cry harder, knowing that all I have now that he is dead is the memories of the joy he brought to me, the cat I named after him, and the POP! Vinyl Figure I bought from 'Sanity' only weeks ago.

This is nothing like the last time I saw him die, because that was revealed to be a fake death for him to escape, but this time it's all too real - the angel blade buried in his chest this time not a general one, but an archangel blade instead. I can almost feel the stabbing pain of that blade and, seemingly playing on that, my ears begin to ring with a strange tune - one that resembles one of my favourite songs - and it grows louder each passing second.

It reaches its crescendo and suddenly I'm engulfed in warmth again, my eyes flying open and my upper body shoving itself up off the mattress, harsh breaths spilling from my lips.

It was just a bad dream.

"Oh, thank Chuck."