The Writers' Circle

I was engulfed in the smoke. It was closing in on me, I can't breathe. The walls are closing in, pressing me into the blackness of death - into the darkness of the dead. But I don't want to die. I'm not afraid of death - I'm afraid of dying. There's the light. The light at the end of the road where death is upon you, that's what they say when the end is coming-

I woke up, screaming. It was only a dream. You can't hear your own heartbeat, but as I laid my hand upon my chest, it was pounding as if dear life depended on it. That's when it hit me, it really does. 

I got up and dressed myself hurriedly, determined not to be trapped by those dreams that haunted my night. I dragged on a top lying on the floor, and skinny jeans from the cupboard. I needed a drink of some sort; a drink that takes the pain away. I trudged downstairs and opened the cupboard: nothing, well there was tea. I sighed as I made it.

I went out the front door in a rush to get away and into the open fresh air. It didn't last long. As I turned the corner there were drunks and people smoking in the alleyways. It disgusted me. I was turning to go back when they called my name. I stopped. They were beckoning me to come over. I didn't want to. I tried to walk off as if I hadn't heard them, but they followed me and caught up with me. One of them grabbed my arm and pulled me back. His grip was strong; I was powerless in his hands.

He turned me round to face him. He had dark black hair with his hoodie pulled over his head. He smelt of smoke. The train of thought brought me back to the memories of my dream. I was startled and dragged back to reality as he kissed me on the lips. His breath smelt of alcohol. I pulled away but he was still holding my arm.

"We don't want nothin' to happen to you, do we?" he stepped back and let go of my arm. I should run: and I did.

I didn't get very far, the man with startling breath sent someone after me and this other person pulled me to the ground and hit me.

I woke up, with dry blood in my hair when I realised there was a cut in my nose. I looked around. I was in some sort of alleyway.

"Didn't want to do that, missy, but I had to, you runnin' off like that," the voice startled me. It was the guy who had punched me. "Run back before they catch me," he said. He was trying to help me.

With a trembling lip, I nodded and ran back to my house as fast as I could and slammed the door behind me.

I didn't bother to wash the blood out of my hair; I just jumped into bed, hoping I would find safety.

I was engulfed in the smoke. It was closing in on me, I can't breathe. The walls are closing in, pressing me into the blackness of death - into the darkness of the dead. But I don't want to die. I'm not afraid of death - I'm afraid of dying. There's the light. The light at the end of the road where death is upon you, that's what they say when the end is coming. I've been here before. Maybe it's real, maybe I'm going to die. Maybe this is no dream and I'm stuck between the fence of life, or the pit of death. I stood up and tried to wake.

That's when I did.

I live my life differently now. I've moved and changed the way I look. Ever since that day, I've never had that dream.and it's still a secret.