Frightful Dream

Deserted — perhaps the best way to describe this sparse region. The ground I walked upon had very few plants, and the plants in existence were lifeless. The ground itself was covered in a yellow-orange sand, resembling that of a rotting orange peel. There were very few buildings, all of which were what seemed to be made of old plywood, and only in the horizon could I see trees–Pine trees. This town was obviously in the southern US, for the few people around had a drawl. It was the deep south, at that.

It was hot outside, the mirage of liquid upon the ground appeared all too often. I sweat a bit on my forehead, but the heat was not too much of a nuisance. The sun in the sky was larger than I have ever seen in my entire seventeen years on this earth.

A man of around 28 years approached me. He had torn jeans, a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, and a trucker hat. His hair was dark brown, went past his ears, and was rather disorganized. He had a five o’ clock shadow as well. Though I’d have never said anything, in my mind I was rather disturbed. My instincts have never before failed me, so when fear trampled against my skin, I knew something was wrong–Not sure what, nor why, but it was there, the fear was there.

The man didn’t say a word, not at all; However, his actions made up for his words, or lack thereof. Out of his pocket he pulled a gun. I never did anything to this man, so I hesitated to run, to process my thoughts. Once processed of course I ran. I ran faster than ever before, dodging shots, not stopping to breathe. Something was going to kill me, whether it be a shot, or heat stroke. The element of death was nearby. Finally, when he was no longer in sight, I came across a shed, a rusty, small shed. The shed was taller than I, but not by much, it was metal, but rather dull and saturated in rust. Inside it was hot, dark, and empty. There was no window, so I had to listen for his footsteps — the only way I could truly be safe.

I heard footsteps after sitting in the shed, trembling with fear, and sweating bullets of perspiration. The shed door opened, but to my surprise, it wasn’t the man after me. It was a middle-aged couple, of around the early forties, one with child. The man had a button-down shirt on that was dirty, and rolled up to the elbows. On top of that was a pair of dirty overalls, rather old obviously, by the looks of the fading facade. He had dirty, messy hair of brown, but regardless of his dirtiness, one could see that this was the mess of a hard worker, and though dirty, he kept a clean shave.  His pregnant wife, a bit younger than he, had messy, strawberry-blond hair, and she wore an outdated yellow dress with flowers on it. Her dress reached her knees. She was far along in her pregnancy, or at least far enough to notice. She obviously had a thin, almost frail, body before being impregnated.

This kind couple noticed my struggle. They sat in the shed with me for my protection, I was quite honored.  Not once did either of them disclose a name, but that was the farthest from my mind. The father-to-be left the shed to get his gun, he was ready to save lives. While gone, I sat with the pregnant woman, there was silence, apart from the heavy breathing I still had from the, what seemed to be, longest run in my life.

We heard footsteps, but it was far too soon to be her husband, the man we were waiting for. She, sitting in front of the door began to shake, she knew what was happening.  Listening carefully, I noticed the killer walked around the shed a bit. Back and forth, back and forth. I had no idea what he was doing, nor did she. He finally stopped his slow pacing, I heard the clicking of the gun. The trigger was pulled.

In front of my eyes, the pregnant woman was shot in the forehead, through the wall of he shed, her blood pouring out and splattering. Her lifeless body fell back, she tumbled through the door and there fell her dead body, lying in the orange sand, the sun kissing her flesh. The killer was no where to be seen. The fear grew more and more. I did not want to be next.

Finally I see her husband running with guns toward the shed. This devastated man seeing his dead wife only made him  more prepared to kill this beast, to rid the earth of this disturbance. I, too, was ready.

He handed me a pistol, a rather powerful pistol. I knew what I wanted to do. I planned on shooting him through the wall, just as he the woman. I waited and waited.

After what seemed to be a lifetime of waiting, we heard the sound of a truck. He was back. I had my pistol in position, but we still heard the truck approaching. The husband looked outside the shed and saw a large truck traveling at high speeds towards us in the shed. The closer he got, the harder it became to up and run. Less than 20 feet away, he built speed. Closer.. Closer.

I look around, I’m safe in my bed, with sheets and blankets warming me. I feel my forehead, beads of sweat lie there. I look around, it’s still morn. I then fall back into my slumber, but this time, I’m safe — This time, I’m sound.