(Author's Note: Okay, that's it. I've officially gone mad with boredom. I'm writing down something which no legitimate writer should write down ever: the odd Mary Sue thing that my friends and I have been doing for the past six years with ourselves as "characters". Names and physical appearances have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent and to avoid copyright infringement. XDD This will start with "me," but I will switch perspectives next round if anyone cares to see more. Events have also been rearranged or eliminated at my whim. "Never let the truth interfere with a good story."
Or a bad one. x3 Warning: This abomination contains the desires and fantasies of what initially are adolescents in high school. I claim no responsibility whatsoever for its quality, even though I'm writing it. XD You have been warned!
:D))
For Sharon, it had begun with him.
Sethys. Or rather, the dreams about him.
She'd heard that it had started in different ways with the others. That Tim had found it much earlier than her and that Samantha ran into it on the exact same night things got a little crazier. But with her it was always him.
She wished she could say that Sethys was a beautiful, sparkling person who loved her. That he took her out on fantastic dates and they spent hours gazing longingly into each other's eyes.
The problem with that was that Sethys was a monster of a man.
And many of these dreams turned into nightmares.
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They began innocently enough. Actually they started a lot like flying dreams, except without the flight. The exhuberance and ecstasy that you felt were there, though. Sharon was running at what felt like close to a hundred miles per hour, the bright lights and toxic fumes of a city speeding past her. The dreams always gave off a sense of nostalgia, as if she'd been to the place they happened in and it felt very much like home.
Her body stopped, somehow, atop a very tall building. Dreams always had weird jumps of logic like that. Looking down below her, she could see the entire city. A vast array of glittering lights, all shifting in various patterns as they flashed or turned on and off. If there was something sparkling in her dream reality, it was this place. Sharon smiled and relaxed on the top of the building, the wind blowing a bit cold against her odd skintight outfit. The vividness of these things was always a bit of a shock.
This segment was sometimes longer or shorter, sometimes involving complicated and criminal acts of great skill and daring. Hey, it was her fantasy. This time it was unfortunately short. Sethys' harsh and cold voice echoed through her ears and into her head, somehow. What they talked about was never explained, but it didn't matter. It meant that she had to leave.
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Sethys lived in a metallic realm of clear lines and right angles, entirely different from the blurred and bouncing lines of the city. For all she knew, the two dream segments could take place in entirely different dimensions. Going back to this place was a little like re-entering school after a long weekend, except worse. The sense of dread was far stronger, and Sharon didn't really
fear school.
When she entered, she always saw him from the back due to the location of the entrance to his room. Sethys was
huge from her perspective, although she wasn't sure if this was because he was tall or because she seemed to be pretty short. Or possibly just because she was terrified of him. He had long, matted white hair that fell from his head and behind him, although it spiked bizarrely in some place. Maybe Sethys used a whole ton of hair gel.
He dressed in a black and red outfit similar to hers, although it was armored in places (such as his chest and arms) that hers was not. She didn't know what he looked like (as he wore a black mask with red stripes underneath his eyes), but guessed he was maybe forty or fifty years old. His voice was too rough to be anyone young.
They didn't speak at length, and Sharon appeared to have gotten lucky this time. Whatever she was doing out there in paradise, she had done it correctly. This happened in some of the dreams. But she could quickly recall others in which bones were shattered and skin was ripped. In which she was talked down to and called worthless, unfit to live. In which all of these wounds were healed quickly and painfully by some substance so that she could go out and do it all over again. And though she grasped that he was no relation of hers, Sharon got the feeling this had been happening for some time.
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Sharon woke up with a jolt in her own, warm bed. Sharon glanced around the room, her books lining the walls and her stuffed animals to the side of her bed. Sharon rubbed her forehead irritably. She wasn't really sure what in the world the source of these dreams was. She had lived with sweet, forgiving parents and had switched between loyal groups of friends her whole life. There was no reason she understood that she'd be working for a madman and getting beaten to death in her dreams. It didn't make much sense.
Granted there was part of her that was inexplicably
drawn to the creep, but only while she was awake. Dream Her couldn't stand him. This discrepancy she supposed came from the different perspectives they had on the situation. But why would there
be a difference? Dreams were supposed to reflect the dreamer's innermost thoughts.
Whatever. It didn't really matter. The whole house was lighting up, anyway. Time to head to high school and meet the day. And whatever came with it.
((Ohgod, why did I write that? Ohwell. I may just get another brain aneurysm and write someone else's segment. ; ) ))