Morning all. I hope you are ready for a fabulous Friday. I am braced for a busy one. So much to do and so little week left. So lets jump into it with the morning prompt and get Friday started. Timers set to fifteen minutes please.
This plays into a story I have been fiddling with off and on for a while now. There are still elements I am working out, plot wise, but I think this can be helpful
Friday, September 19th: Eyes glittered in the shadows.
Eyes glittered in the shadows. I knew I was being watched. Every time I turned to look at the eyes though, they disappeared. I didn’t know if they were human or something with claws and fangs. None of them made any attempt to approach. Somehow I knew they wouldn’t. That wasn’t the reason for their placement here. They were here to watch.
They were here to watch me.
They wanted to see what I would do.
I knew that better than I knew my own name. I almost laughed at that. I didn’t know my own name. Not now anyway. I probably knew it before. Before the car hit me and sever other innocent bystanders walking down the sidewalk. It wasn’t the driver’s fault, not really. At least the way the police explained it to me when I came out of the coma. The driver was innocently running errands when they suffered a major coronary. They died at the wheel, the car losing control, jumping the curb and smacking into us pedestrians.
I was the lucky survivor. I was injured and taken to the hospital, put into a medically induced coma while my body was repaired. No one else made it. The others were identified. No one came forward looking for me. None of the friends or family of the other dead recognized me. In the photo I was carrying a purse. It disappeared somewhere in the may lay and no one could identify me. My photo was in no one’s system and my fingerprints weren’t recorded anywhere.
When I woke up, I could remember nothing. Everyone said that my memory might return or it might not. They didn’t know and simply helped me get on with the physical aspects of healing.
In the beginning, I didn’t even dream. I was awake, then I closed my eyes to let sleep claim me and opened them again with no sense of anything between. I somehow knew this wasn’t right. I felt like I should be dreaming although I couldn’t say why. It was just a feeling and not one I mentioned to anyone.
I also didn’t mention the nurse who seemed slightly off. There was nothing I could point to that separated her out, nothing concrete. It was just a feeling. Until I noticed that when she brought me my pills there was always an extra pill in the cup. A pastel blue one, small and easily overlooked.
Once I noticed it was only in the pills she gave me, I stopped taking it. I pretended I did but made certain to dispose of it. I always crushed it to powder in the bathroom and then flushed the powder down the toilet. Three days after I stopped taking the pill, dreams started to come. They were always the same. I was on a path through a dark wood, eyes glittering in the darkness outside the path. I was being watched as everyone wanted to see what I would do.
Each night it was the same. I could easily explain the watching. Even awake there was always someone watching. Some hoped I would remember something. Others seemed to hope I wouldn’t.
This night, two weeks after I stopped taking the pills, there was more definition in the trees. They were not just blackness with no shape. I could tell there were drees even if the darkness was thick and heavy. I could tell it was some sort of forest. Even better I could see something in the distance. Before the path wound through the darkness with no destination. Now I could see the vague outline of a building in the distance. Better yet, it looked familiar.
Ten til Midnight 