Falling River, River Falling

         The world is cold and damp. Yet the sun shines bright in a clear blue sky. She finds herself on the tall grasses beside a churning river, soaked from head to toe. Every breath is a struggle. There is something about this river that appears familiar, but the longer she stares, the cloudier her thoughts become. Drops of water roll down her arms, across the back of her hands, before sluggishly dropping off her fingers. Drip. Drip. Drip. The tips of her fingers swell before they too turn into droplets and fall into the current.

         A flock of birds suddenly breaks into flight from barren trees where a man with no face steps in her direction, a rubber-gloved hand outstretched to extend aid. A chill creeps up her spine. She knows nothing of him except instinct - he is ruination. It is better to be the river than accept what he has to offer. So the river she becomes. As he tries to grab her, her body becomes liquid, rushing away to the waters below.

         The current surrounds her, spinning her world asunder. She fights to keep herself intact, to not get lost in the wildness of the river. You can forever be free, it whispers as they sweep over old stones. They cannot touch you here.

         "This is not my home."

         But dearest, River, it is your heart.

         Her heart? She had almost forgotten. Were heart and home not the same thing?

         As the river bends, she remembers what home meant - thin walls, raised voices. The image, tarnished yet eerily perfect, rips her out of the water, slamming her onto the asphalt of a quiet suburban neighborhood. The road is rough and dry against her palms. With great care, River stands up, made of blood and bone once more.

         A two-story house looms before her painted grey and greyer. Its front door sits ajar. With practiced tiptoe steps, she makes her way inside the empty house not touched by time. The scent of wood polish and fear still cling to the air. Slowly, she turns to the staircase with worn carpeted steps. The grind of her teeth keeps time with each stride upward. Step, grit. Step, grit. Step, grit. She reaches the top, standing outside the master bedroom, staring down the narrow, never-ending hallway to the other bedroom that once was hers.

         Time slows. Each footstep weighs her down. The cold that overtook her spine now spreads to her gut, blooming into barbed dread. Her old doorway is in sight; the framework is covered in inky stains that breathe and sigh in time with her pulse. She reaches for the doorknob when a small hand grabs her shirt, yanking her away.

         “Not there,” the little girl screams. “This way!”

         River follows. She looks back in time to see the bedroom door explode, and the faceless man stomp out. The sludge stains are now emanating from his hands, reaching toward them. The little girl pulls her inside the bathroom just short of his reach. River slams the door shut along with hundreds of small locks. It shakes against the man’s fury.

         The girl scrambles to open the cupboard door with shaking hands. River does it for her, only to be confronted with dozens of boxes and stacked towels on narrow shelves.

         “It’s a cupboard.”

         “No.” The little girl shakes her head. “It’s freedom.”

         River notices the girl’s short black hair, curling around her ears. Freckles dot her nose and cheeks. A small scar marks her forehead. She knows this face; River saw it in the mirror everyday. Except her eyes. Her eyes are clouded with deep bruise-like shadows.

         River frantically pulls towels and boxes to the ground. The cupboard wall is not a wall, but a mossy gate. She thrashes against it. The little girl has to make it to safety this time. With a guttural cry, River shoves the gate down as the first locks break. She picks the girl up, setting her on the self to climb through.

         “Run!”

         “No.”

         More locks shatter.

         “There’s no time. You must run.”

         “I can’t-I can’t.”

         The bathroom door is almost open. River dives through the shelves, arms first. The shelves are difficult to squeeze through. With one arm free, the little girl grabs her and pulls with everything she has. River can hear the last locks burst as she tumbles onto the forest floor. She doesn’t look back, simply grabs the girl’s hand and runs.

         In a sea of redwood trees that sit so wide and stretch so tall, she couldn’t see the sky. As the little girl stumbles, River swings her up into her arms. The man with no face hounds their every move. The muscles of her legs and lungs burn, but she keeps pushing forward, forward. Forward until the path suddenly stops, dropping away into a massive void.

         The faceless man oozes giant millipedes that slither from the trees, leaving slimy stains in their wake. She holds the little one with a fierce grip. I will never let them hurt you again, she silently promises, stroking the girl’s hair. The little girl gazes up at her with a teary smile. River returns the smile only to be holding nothing as she dissipates into a puff of smoke. It wraps itself around River before sinking into her chest.

         For the first time, her heart seems to steady. River collapses.

         River hears nothing, merely feels the millipedes crawl up her body. In the echo of their silence comes the rush of the river current. She frantically looks around, a stream of tears are rolling down her cheeks, collecting into a pool beneath her knees. Wider the waters grow until all she could do is bare her teeth and descend. Fall. She is nothing, everything. Fall. Fall. Fall. Until suddenly, she’s floating.

         She hauls herself onto the embankment, grabbing fistfuls of reeds to pull herself out of the waters. There is something familiar about this river. The world is cold and damp...

Word Count: 1000

Prompt: Write a story based on a dream (or nightmare) that you yourself have dreamed.

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