tw: blood, mentions of death
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I think I am no longer in a dream.
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I am trapped. I am aware. I can smell a putrefying odor flooding the cave, strangling my lungs. I can hear reverberations of demons taunting me endlessly, forcing me to smell my own near death. There are three others in the central cave, none of them I recognize: a man wearing all white with a scar near his left eyebrow, an old woman missing an arm, and a young boy clutching onto a rag doll. The man keeps tapping his foot on a stone, his lips dry and pursed. The young boy is seated on the ground twiddling with his doll, as if he's at home in the living room on a typical Sunday evening. The old woman is the strangest. She keeps repeating someone's name in a monotone voice, staring down at her chest. "Amy...Amy..."
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I am too frightened to wander. I am too frightened to ask questions. So I begin to think. Is this hell? Am I already dead? I can't even remember my own name. Is this the dreadful afterlife my father warned me about? But there is no reason for me to be dead. This should only be a dream. I look down at my forest green gown which feels so. . .familiar.
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The little boy watches me. He doesn't blink.
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My feet are leading me toward him. He looks back down at his doll, which I notice is covered in brown stains. The boy's fingers dig into her petite arm. He strokes her hair with the other. I take a deep breath and kneel beside him, remaining silent. The cave is oddly hushed.
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Finally, the words pour from my mouth. "Who are you? And where are we?" I tremble, as he doesn't react. He cradles the doll in his arms, quiet, as if trying to remember.
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The old woman is still speaking in a muffled voice. I want her to go away. My knees ache and the dress starts to itch my back. The heat steams my neck. Footsteps trickle behind me, listening closely to my wobbly breaths.
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"Excuse me?"
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I jump to my feet, whipping around. It's the man dressed in white with a scar near his eyebrow. His foot is still tapping. "Excuse me, have you seen my daughter Amy?" Tap tap tap.
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"I don't know her," I manage.
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He squints at me. "I recognize that dress somewhere." Tap tap tap.
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I look down, confused. "No, I think you're mistaken..." I begin, but that's when it struck me.
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"Here. I found it." Amy waved a gleaming, green dress in my face. "What do you think? Do you want it?"
My jaw dropped. "Want it?" I squealed. "I need it!" She laughed as I admired the straps, the sleeves, the color. The envy I had felt from her wealth turned into guilt."I owe you so much for this. You sure you're fine with me wearing it to the party?"
"Don't worry about it. I know you'll take good care of it anyway."
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The man shakes his head vigorously. "No. It's Amy's. She wore it to her final piano recital," he says tearfully. "And it's ruined."
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My mind snaps. The first thing I see are splatters of red splotched on my dress. Bright, scarlet red. Blood dripped down the hem, down my ankles to the rugged ground.
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"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I didn't mean to ruin it."
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He leaves. The young boy clutches his doll to his chest and looks away from me.
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"Where are you guys going?"
Amy and I spun around to find James, her younger brother. He examined us up and down and narrowed his eyes. Of course he was suspicious. We looked like we were going to be late for a ball. I clasped my hand over my mouth, trying not to give ourselves away. "We're going to Maddy's house," Amy blurted.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
"We're playing dress-up," Amy said while I responded with "It's a secret." We smirked.
He crossed his arms. "I can keep secrets."
I opened my mouth, but Amy already leaned in. "Okay, James. The secret is — we're actually heading to the movies."
"I wanna go to the movies!"
She ruffled his hair. "Sorry. They're only playing princess movies at this hour. You don't like princess movies, do you?" Amy grabbed my hand and we sprinted to the door, giggling like lunatics. "Don't wake our parents!" she called.
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"It's your fault."
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My head jerks. The boy's eyes stare intently at mine. "What did you say?"
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"It's all your fault," James repeats, squeezing the doll's neck. "It was your idea to go to that party."
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I blink. How could he have known that?
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"Amy..." The voice of the old woman echoes.
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The cave starts spinning. The noises tangle together until it creates an awful, nauseating noise that squeezes my skull. The sound of James' fingers scraping the floor, the woman repeating Amy's name, the man's foot tapping continuously. Tap tap tap. I stand frozen, my mouth sealed shut by the invisible tape preventing me from screaming.
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"Madison..."
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I start to cry.
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The noises halt. A dark, shadowy figure approaches from the end of the cave. He is missing a face, and his legs appear taller than I am. His feet look like they can crush me eight feet underground. "Madison," he echoes. Even the demons go silent. "Why are you still here?"
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"It's such a shame you torture yourself every day for that little girl." He grunts at my silence. "And you still cry. Do you think it's fair for a murderer to cry for her own victim?"
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I want to face him and speak. But I collapse onto the floor.
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"You've taken a lot of lives that night," he continues, keeping his voice low. "Now the boy carries her doll to remember what is left of her. The man lost his only daughter to someone who reminded him of a second daughter. What was he supposed to feel? Her grandmother will remember the loss of her granddaughter in her last days. They will never be the same again. Do you think it's fair for a murderer to cry for her own victim?"
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"I'm not a murderer." I'm barely able to whisper.
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"But who was driving that night?"
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Air draws out of me as I close my eyes. Wake up. Just wake up. Please.
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Sweat trickles down my warm neck. I can hear my heart hammering, unsteadily beating. Another dark room, but it's my own. But I'm not sure if I'm still dreaming. It's still a blur. I'm barely alert. Despite my fatigue, I strive to stay awake. I kick the covers off my body and reach for my phone. 3:57 AM. I wonder if there will ever be a day when I wouldn't be afraid to sleep.
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"How was your sleep last night?" my mother would ask with genuine concern.
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"A lot better," I would reply. I imagine myself straining an assuring smile, clutching my bag.
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"Maddy, you don't have to go to school today if you don't want to."
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"I'm fine."
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Only a few more hours until the day replays.
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