Your Worst Nightmare
“Tell me,” the man said in a deep husky voice. “What do you fear most?”
The man touched my throat where my collarbones met, and I screamed and convulsed to his burning touch. It was like ice fire, slicing down my throat and into my lungs causing my screaming to stutter. As it spread, a cold hand wrapped around my heart, squeezing it in painful jolts.
“What is it, hmmm?” the man persuaded gently, closer to my face than ever. “Is it the fire? Is that it?” His bloody right arm shot out and through the searing pain at my throat, I turned to see tongues of brilliant orange fire shoot out of his palm and race around the room. They engulfed it, towering high to the endless ceiling, and leaning in closer to me as the man beckoned them onward with the twists of his scarlet fingers. I could feel their heat radiating onto my body, my sweat dripping down my face faster then before. I whimpered pathetically. “The sweet, powerful flames of glory? No. It’s not that.” the man thought pensively. “It’s not that kind of flame. It’s the burning light of daybreak, the singeing arms of mother sun as she stretches out into the morning and takes the velvet cloak of night from under our very unconscious noses, teasing us Dreamers with her taunts of simplicity. She calls us into the day, out of the slumber for which we long for and cherish. It’s sunrise that you fear, my darling. The glorious early morning symphony of reds and purples. And the fire.”
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Where's my angel?
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Sweet Dreams!
May Nightmare spare you.
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