SarahMature

Sarah

After that strange Sunday. the rest of the week seemed boring in comparison.

My mother didn't allow me to see my friends during the summer. As she put it, this was my time for rest and relaxation.

There was a storm on Friday. The wind howled like a wounded animal. The tree in front of my bedroom window shook violently, its branches scratching at the window.

I sat on my bed, my knees tucked up at my chest. No amount of singing "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" could calm my mind this time.

It burst from me like an angry demon.

The tree was not a tree at all, but a tall hag with crooked fingers that scritched and scratched at the window pane. A monster growled beneath my bed, shaking the walls. The sky was illuminated for a split second by the flash of a nuclear bomb dropping. I sat straight up, my spine forcing my back into a ridgid line. I screamed.

My door flew open. My parents ran in to find me curled in the fetal position upon my bed, my fingers knotted in my hair as I slammed the side of my face repeatedly into my pillow. But still, I saw danger everywhere I looked.

An ogre roared at me, spittle flying from his lips. The demon that had accompanied him poked and prodded at me, her voice chittering and chattering at an unbearabley high pitch. The ogre and demoness would not hurt me, but their presence kept me awake long into the night. The room was constantly shifting. With every crack of thunder or stroke of lightning, the various peices of furniture became ghosts, monsters, dragons and other assorted beasts. The books I always read took their vengeance out on me and haunted my worst episodes. I lashed out at the demoness as she scratched her claws into my face. The ogre tore apart the room, knocking goblins and wyverns aside.

Then, as quickly as the life-like visions had come, they faded. My father was throwing a fit, clearly angry. Mom stroked my hair and whispered soothing words into my ear.

"It's over," I told her, my voice dry and hoarse from screaming.

Dad stopped and stared at me. It ended as it always did. My mother quickly fled the room. Dad's form hovered over me.

"Make it quick," I pleaded as the first blow was dealt.

 

The End

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