so, here i have an original ficlet written when i was bored, and coincidentally enough, when it was 3 am.
Title : Frightened
Rating: PG i guess...
Summary: 3 am musings...
Jessica is afraid to leave her house. She wants to leave sometimes; she feels the wanting so deep that it hurts, but every time she tries to step outside her front door, the most awful panic overtakes her and she winds up right where she started: in the living room, trembling and staring out of the window with wide haunted eyes.
The nights after these times of small resistance are the worst. She dreams in disjointed fragments and sees things that terrify her. There is the sound of a bullet, blood flows, and she snaps awake with that deep redness still on the edges of her vision, remnants of a dream she would rather not remember.
Its on these nights when she winds up staying awake, trying to absorb herself in a book or movie but really just watching the shadows on the wall move; making sure that they don’t try to get her. Even the smallest sound can send her into a panic.
She thinks that perhaps if mother were still alive, things would be different. She would not have such a hard time leaving the house. But mother is dead, has been for years, and there is no bringing her back, ever. Even if she could she wouldn’t, she always decides firmly on nights like these. Nights when she has had such horrible nightmares that she can’t sleep, not for the world. Nights when even the craziest things seem possible, when even the most wild of thoughts seems perfectly sane. She thinks that if she wished mother back she would come, oh yes she would, and never mind that people just can’t come back from the dead. All mother ever did was do what her darling Jessie wanted, and she would surely not have stopped, no matter what anyone said. She would pry her way out of the earth and come to her, fingers stained with blood and smelling of death and decay. She would come to the door and open it, and walk to Jessica who would be cowering in the living room, too frightened to move. She would pull Jessica into her arms and into that stench, and she would open up a mouth with the tongue rotted almost completely away and crawling with bugs, and she’d say, “Oh my darling little girl, it’s all okay, mummie’s here,” but it wouldn’t be okay, because the bugs would fall out of mother’s mouth and hair and onto Jessica’s upturned face, and then her mind would snap and she would scream and scream but no one would hear her because dead people don’t scream and that’s what she’d be.
Jessica gets up and turns on every light in the house. She really can’t afford it and she knows that soon she’ll be in real hurt if she keeps this up, but she doesn’t care. It’s three a.m., she tried to go outside today, and anything is possible.