Post by darkwingsnark on Mar 9, 2020 10:23:47 GMT -7
Actually written by my wife, she just isn't a forum person.........yet.
Dan hated the carnival. The food gave him gas, the rides made him sick, and the hordes of meandering, braindead masses milling around filled him with a desire to set the entire thing on fire. Thoughts of these delightfully warm, soothing flames danced around in his mind as he watched them now, an endless sea of faceless carnival goers. Their idle mutterings, chitchat, it all ran in together, mingling with that abhorrent carnival music, forming a cacophony of misery.
"Dan? Hey Dan, there you are!"
Ah, Chris. It was Chris' voice that broke through Dan's quickly rising rage levels. It was a good thing, too, because he'd been just about to start throwing things. Despite his relief, Dan spun around to yell at his friend just the same.
"And where have you been? I've been waiting here for hours!" Dan faltered, his expression turning from stern anger to one of blank confusion as his eyes darted around. "At least I imagine so." He added with a lazy shrug. It only now occurred to Dan he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here or why he was here at all. Didn't Dan hate carnivals? Yeah, he did! In fact, he--
This train of thought was cut abruptly short when Chris grabbed his hand and began dragging him through the crowd. Dan made a weak attempt at struggling, more out of pride than an actual desire to break away.
"Hey, watch it! Where are you taking me? Stop pulling!"
And Chris did stop, but not because Dan had asked him to. They'd reached their destination.
"Ta-da! What do you think?" Chris asked, gesturing to the looming building that lay in front of them. Dan stared up at it. It was huge, overwhelming, it seemed to blot out the sun. Hokey wooden hearts adorned the entirety of it, a few swans and a bloated baby with wings and a bow and arrow adorned the thing's entrance. Little swan boats rocked back and forth slightly on the water in front, jostled by a breeze that Dan couldn't feel.
Dan pushed down this rising dread, this feeling of nervous déjà vu, by scoffing and turning away, arms crossed over his chest.
"That's ridiculous. I'm not going on the Tunnel of Love with you, Chris, don't make this weird."
"It isn't weird , Dan!" Chris whined from behind him. "I just really love those little dancing hearts, oh, and the little song they sing!"
"He does, he really does." Huh? That had been Elise. Elise was here, too. Fantastic. Dan rolled his eyes and turned to face her.
"Then how about you take up your wifely duties, and take your husband on--" Dan stared dumbly. Elise wasn't there, only Chris smiling and waving amiably at him. "Huh? Where did...?" Dan spun around again to search in the opposite direction now, still no Elise. Only the crowd of faceless people, their mutterings and occasional laughter now gone, as if someone had pushed the mute button. Dan was so befuddled by all of this, he didn't bother struggling when his wrist was grabbed again, and he was dragged into the little swan boat, strapped in beside his friend.
"Okay, fine, but if you kiss me, I'll smack you." Dan mumbled.
"I'm not going to kiss you." Chris replied, tone annoyed, and Dan could tell he'd rolled his eyes without having to see it.
"We'll see."
"What's that supposed to mean!"
But Dan didn't get to respond, as the boat hitched, and the ride began. They glided into the dark tunnel, flashes of bright pinks and reds, no music at all despite Chris only earlier mentioning it. Everything was a nonsensical blur now, were they even on a boat anymore? The familiar, but half-numbed sensation of being held in the darkness, lips pressed against his own, fingers slipping through his hair, and a creeping, lingering dread under this all encompassing sensation of vulnerable passion.
This ended badly. This always ended badly. How could this possibly end badly?
His fears and rising anxiety came to a crescendo when he felt lips and warm breath against his ear, the words that slipped out of them freezing his blood.
"I'm going to gut you while you sleep."
Dan gasped and recoiled, and saw with horror it was Elise sitting beside him now in the blackness, smiling at him sweetly. Expression never changing, she pulled back a fist, and just before it made contact with his face, Dan woke up screaming, sitting bolt upright in his bed.
Dan gasped and panted as he waited for his heart to slow. It finally began to when Mr. Mumbles jumped up onto the bed and curled up in his lap.
"Meow?"
"Yes, Mr. Mumbles. I had the nightmare again." Dan replied, tiredly, absentmindedly stroking her head.
"Mrow?" The cat questioned, hopping off his lap and on to the floor, looking up at him expectantly. Dan only stared back in shock, mouth hanging slightly agape at what he'd perceived she'd just said. How dare she call him out like this! In his own home! The nerve! This look of surprise crumpled into an annoyed scowl and he swung his feet over the side of the bed.
"That's it, no more Dr. Phil for you, Mr. Mumbles." The cat mew'd back at him, sadly, wondering if he'd finally feed her now. It was breakfast time, and that meant eat. What Mr. Mumbles either didn't notice or assigned no importance to, however, while she happily rubbed up against his legs as he made his way to the kitchen, were the dark circles that had formed under his eyes. Dan's nights had been plagued by this same nightmare for weeks now, and sleep had been restless when he'd managed to find it at all. There were occasionally slight variations, but the ending was always the same. And these dreams had only joined the myriad of other, anxiety-induced and not Chris-related nightmares he'd suffered from since he was nine, instead of replacing them. Dan was tired. So very tired.
Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a can of cat food. He squinted at the label, his vision momentarily blurry from the sleep deprivation. Yup, this was cat food. He went to work opening the can with the can opener, while Mr. Mumbles meowed at him impatiently. Half way through the can slipped from his slightly shaking hand, the can landing squarely on his foot. He let out a short, angry scream, and the can bounced away, the cat chasing after it, eagerly. Dan watched Mr. Mumbles happily eat the spilled food from the floor while he stood there, raised and sore foot in one hand. Fine, whatever, that works too.
On his way to the stove, he tripped over a pair of discarded pants, stumbling and then falling, face planting into the dirty carpet. His cleaning habits had gotten even more deplorable since he'd been losing sleep. Dan used this opportunity to scream his grievances into the rug before climbing back to his feet. Now everything hurt. Everything was terrible.
Except bacon, bacon was still okay. Soon it was sizzling away in the pan on the stove, its aroma wafting across his tired senses, providing much needed comfort. Even the sound of it was calming somehow, the warmth from the stove even more so. Slowly, Dan's eyelids began to grow heavy. Blink. Blink. So heavy. Soon he was asleep standing there, but only for a moment, as his body lost tension and he collapsed, his hand hitting the frying pan handle on his way down. It wasn't hitting the floor that woke Dan, but the pan of searing hot oil and meat landing on the back of his head.
His rage had by now reached its boiling point, he was wide awake for perhaps the first time in days, and he pushed himself up onto his knees. He grabbed the pan, screamed at it wordlessly, and hurled it across the room. Next he threw his head back and roared at his ceiling.
"NIGHTMAAAARES!"
Dan hated the carnival. The food gave him gas, the rides made him sick, and the hordes of meandering, braindead masses milling around filled him with a desire to set the entire thing on fire. Thoughts of these delightfully warm, soothing flames danced around in his mind as he watched them now, an endless sea of faceless carnival goers. Their idle mutterings, chitchat, it all ran in together, mingling with that abhorrent carnival music, forming a cacophony of misery.
"Dan? Hey Dan, there you are!"
Ah, Chris. It was Chris' voice that broke through Dan's quickly rising rage levels. It was a good thing, too, because he'd been just about to start throwing things. Despite his relief, Dan spun around to yell at his friend just the same.
"And where have you been? I've been waiting here for hours!" Dan faltered, his expression turning from stern anger to one of blank confusion as his eyes darted around. "At least I imagine so." He added with a lazy shrug. It only now occurred to Dan he couldn't remember how he'd gotten here or why he was here at all. Didn't Dan hate carnivals? Yeah, he did! In fact, he--
This train of thought was cut abruptly short when Chris grabbed his hand and began dragging him through the crowd. Dan made a weak attempt at struggling, more out of pride than an actual desire to break away.
"Hey, watch it! Where are you taking me? Stop pulling!"
And Chris did stop, but not because Dan had asked him to. They'd reached their destination.
"Ta-da! What do you think?" Chris asked, gesturing to the looming building that lay in front of them. Dan stared up at it. It was huge, overwhelming, it seemed to blot out the sun. Hokey wooden hearts adorned the entirety of it, a few swans and a bloated baby with wings and a bow and arrow adorned the thing's entrance. Little swan boats rocked back and forth slightly on the water in front, jostled by a breeze that Dan couldn't feel.
Dan pushed down this rising dread, this feeling of nervous déjà vu, by scoffing and turning away, arms crossed over his chest.
"That's ridiculous. I'm not going on the Tunnel of Love with you, Chris, don't make this weird."
"It isn't weird , Dan!" Chris whined from behind him. "I just really love those little dancing hearts, oh, and the little song they sing!"
"He does, he really does." Huh? That had been Elise. Elise was here, too. Fantastic. Dan rolled his eyes and turned to face her.
"Then how about you take up your wifely duties, and take your husband on--" Dan stared dumbly. Elise wasn't there, only Chris smiling and waving amiably at him. "Huh? Where did...?" Dan spun around again to search in the opposite direction now, still no Elise. Only the crowd of faceless people, their mutterings and occasional laughter now gone, as if someone had pushed the mute button. Dan was so befuddled by all of this, he didn't bother struggling when his wrist was grabbed again, and he was dragged into the little swan boat, strapped in beside his friend.
"Okay, fine, but if you kiss me, I'll smack you." Dan mumbled.
"I'm not going to kiss you." Chris replied, tone annoyed, and Dan could tell he'd rolled his eyes without having to see it.
"We'll see."
"What's that supposed to mean!"
But Dan didn't get to respond, as the boat hitched, and the ride began. They glided into the dark tunnel, flashes of bright pinks and reds, no music at all despite Chris only earlier mentioning it. Everything was a nonsensical blur now, were they even on a boat anymore? The familiar, but half-numbed sensation of being held in the darkness, lips pressed against his own, fingers slipping through his hair, and a creeping, lingering dread under this all encompassing sensation of vulnerable passion.
This ended badly. This always ended badly. How could this possibly end badly?
His fears and rising anxiety came to a crescendo when he felt lips and warm breath against his ear, the words that slipped out of them freezing his blood.
"I'm going to gut you while you sleep."
Dan gasped and recoiled, and saw with horror it was Elise sitting beside him now in the blackness, smiling at him sweetly. Expression never changing, she pulled back a fist, and just before it made contact with his face, Dan woke up screaming, sitting bolt upright in his bed.
Dan gasped and panted as he waited for his heart to slow. It finally began to when Mr. Mumbles jumped up onto the bed and curled up in his lap.
"Meow?"
"Yes, Mr. Mumbles. I had the nightmare again." Dan replied, tiredly, absentmindedly stroking her head.
"Mrow?" The cat questioned, hopping off his lap and on to the floor, looking up at him expectantly. Dan only stared back in shock, mouth hanging slightly agape at what he'd perceived she'd just said. How dare she call him out like this! In his own home! The nerve! This look of surprise crumpled into an annoyed scowl and he swung his feet over the side of the bed.
"That's it, no more Dr. Phil for you, Mr. Mumbles." The cat mew'd back at him, sadly, wondering if he'd finally feed her now. It was breakfast time, and that meant eat. What Mr. Mumbles either didn't notice or assigned no importance to, however, while she happily rubbed up against his legs as he made his way to the kitchen, were the dark circles that had formed under his eyes. Dan's nights had been plagued by this same nightmare for weeks now, and sleep had been restless when he'd managed to find it at all. There were occasionally slight variations, but the ending was always the same. And these dreams had only joined the myriad of other, anxiety-induced and not Chris-related nightmares he'd suffered from since he was nine, instead of replacing them. Dan was tired. So very tired.
Reaching into the cupboard, he pulled out a can of cat food. He squinted at the label, his vision momentarily blurry from the sleep deprivation. Yup, this was cat food. He went to work opening the can with the can opener, while Mr. Mumbles meowed at him impatiently. Half way through the can slipped from his slightly shaking hand, the can landing squarely on his foot. He let out a short, angry scream, and the can bounced away, the cat chasing after it, eagerly. Dan watched Mr. Mumbles happily eat the spilled food from the floor while he stood there, raised and sore foot in one hand. Fine, whatever, that works too.
On his way to the stove, he tripped over a pair of discarded pants, stumbling and then falling, face planting into the dirty carpet. His cleaning habits had gotten even more deplorable since he'd been losing sleep. Dan used this opportunity to scream his grievances into the rug before climbing back to his feet. Now everything hurt. Everything was terrible.
Except bacon, bacon was still okay. Soon it was sizzling away in the pan on the stove, its aroma wafting across his tired senses, providing much needed comfort. Even the sound of it was calming somehow, the warmth from the stove even more so. Slowly, Dan's eyelids began to grow heavy. Blink. Blink. So heavy. Soon he was asleep standing there, but only for a moment, as his body lost tension and he collapsed, his hand hitting the frying pan handle on his way down. It wasn't hitting the floor that woke Dan, but the pan of searing hot oil and meat landing on the back of his head.
His rage had by now reached its boiling point, he was wide awake for perhaps the first time in days, and he pushed himself up onto his knees. He grabbed the pan, screamed at it wordlessly, and hurled it across the room. Next he threw his head back and roared at his ceiling.
"NIGHTMAAAARES!"