• The cold night air, surrounded me in an icy blanket that turned my bones to frost and my tears to small frozen diamonds, which fell gracefully down my cheek. As the bitter wind pounded my face. The horrifying images of my unrelenting dream kept running through my mind like a film reel. Blood. Flesh. A heart wrenching scream. The same dream had haunted me since I was a child, it terrified me but in some way I felt at ease with what I saw as if it was natural. I’d seen many psychiatrists and scientist nobodies for a reason why, but the same diagnosis was given;
    “there just nightmares, nothing to worry about.”
    However I new they weren’t normal but what could I do, 20 years of my life living in anguish, looking for an answer to a question I don’t know. I hadn’t had the greatest childhood, my parents traumatic end happened fifteen years ago, so doctors figured it to be trauma..naturally. My Aunt Mary and her husband Joe adopted me believing I needed people around me I could trust, but no one had gained it, my fear and anger of the thing that killed my parents drove me to near insanity. All I’d do was sit in my room looking through pictures, weeping but as I got older I’d learnt there were better ways to vent my hatred and depression. Of course it was ridiculous and stupid of me, but I was lost, on the verge of mental breakdown just wishing my mom and dad were there. Broke my Aunt Mary’s heart but she never stopped caring, all she’d say was :
    “don’t worry pumpkin I’m not going anywhere and no matter what it takes or how long, I’ll make you better again, .”
    I guess it was her hard work and admiration to find something good in me when I was in my darkest hour that made me realise, I had to move on to save myself and stop my Aunt from reaching an early grave from the stress. So here I am wondering down the dark alley ways of London city, walking briskly towards my apartment.

    Finally I reach the dark blue flaky door, I bring my keys out of my bag and with a small shove the door gives way and opens with an irritating creak, every time anyone wishes to come in, it never gets old. I manage the four flights of stairs in no time. Then I come to it, apartment 4A, my home. I shiver as the difference in temperature hits me as I enter my medium sized hallway throwing my coat and scarf on the pegs as I walk past. I feel restless as I curl up on my sofa to watch evening tv, as if something is coming but I don’t know what. The notion makes me uneasy and I run to lock all my doors and windows. I push the thought to the back of my mind and concentrate on trying to make myself a decent meal. After failing that miserably I go for a hot shower to loosen my taut, tense muscles and wash away the troubles of living in a one bedroom apartment and wrestling two jobs just to pay the rent. I step from the shower and dry myself off, deliberately taking my time. Afterwards I saunter slowly towards my room brushing the knots out of my wet tangled hair. As I slide into bed the warm welcoming covers lull me to sleep almost instantly erasing my earlier worries.
    I’m running, panting heavily with blood pouring from my right eyebrow and down my left arm, something is following me, I watch the dark shadows move closer, flashes of my parents death attack my mind, the sea of blood, their pale dead eyes and the sickly murmur of laughter from somewhere in the distance. I snap back to reality and crash into a gloomy stranger. I scream fiercely, wrenching upwards, sweat caking my forehead, my breath laboured and ragged.

    Another dream.

    What do they mean? Why do they always refer to my parents murder? What’s happening to me?
    The same annoying questions. My dream had left me pretty shaken up so I stumble to the bathroom to splash my face. The ice cool water clears my mind and rinses away the sticky residue off my forehead. My breath came in sluggish pants, I lift my head to peer at my ghostly reflection, when a dark shadowy figure appears behind me in the mirror. In total horror I spin around and fear the darkness but as I search I see nothing. Calm down, I keep telling myself, there’s nothing in the dark that can hurt me. Is there? I wake early in the morning wiping sleep from my eyes and stretching effortlessly. It’s 7:45 on a dim Sunday morning, the air is damp and clammy and filled with misty rain that soaks the body in a matter of minutes. As I walk to the window flash backs of last nights horror fill my mind, suddenly I’m cold, scared as I remember the tall dark figure looming behind me. I push the memories away, for analysis later but know I have work to do. I change into my old grubby jeans and blank flannel t-shirt, that’s a size to small but shows of my flawless stomach. The garage is only a mile down the road so the walk doesn’t take long.