When she was awake, Stacey's world was full of pain, vomiting and delirious screaming at the visions. When she was asleep, nightmares attacked. She wasn't just being chased anymore. There was being beaten to death. Being stuck on a battlefield fighting for her life. Being pressed down and violated by sweaty giants with and without fur. There was drowning in a sea of blood and misery. She was trapped with no where to run.
Despair, death and desperation clung to her at every turn. Hopeless and helplessness pervaded her being. Surrendering did nothing. Fighting and running gave no reprieve. She was thrown from one place to another. Control over her body and emotions was a distant dream. She could only struggle futilely before she was killed or forced down by some evil creature over and over and over again.
The stink of sweat and fear and blood filled her nostrils. Her throat was ragged, sore and she could taste both blood and foul substances that were shoved in her mouth. Dirty, sharp fingernails scratched at her skin. It hurt. And crying didn't do anything to ease the acute pain digging into her head and chest. She couldn't escape from it. Her clothes were torn from her piece by piece, disregarding her dignity. Filthy hands and filthy claws scratched at her skin. They bruised her flesh and humiliated her in the most horrible way. They touched her most private places and mocked her. When they had finished, they ripped or cut her apart.
The centaur leader of the local beastmen reappeared over and over again to drag her away. If not him, it was a minotaur, a wolf headed man or a snakeman with a hemip*nis. Her head was struck and battered by their rage filled actions until she felt like it might burst. Her teeth were shattered and the shards filled her mouth.
Heavy hooves kicked in her chest and collapsed her lungs. The arms around her waist constricted and turned into snakes. The pain prevented her from being able to breathe properly. She gasped but she couldn't get any air in. Couldn't get any air out. It hurt too much to breathe. She was dying. She was going to die.
There was no one she could rely on for help. There was no saving a hopeless and worthless person like her. While she hoped a saviour would appear, she also knew that there would be none. She was on her own.
A banging door startled her into momentary wakefulness. She saw blurry images and billowing curtains. It didn't last long. A clang and then the panic of bloody battle would drag her into another nightmare ridden dream. Danger leapt before her eyes and she scrambled to react.
Her head felt like it was being both pierced and crushed at the same time and her stomach heaved. Nausea and dizziness assaulted all her senses. Disorientation threw and dropped her. What was up or down, she couldn't tell. The whole world spun. Falling. She fell from an inestimable height toward the ground but never reached it.
People came and went. The brief whiff of a hospital would find its way through the hallucinations every now and then. Voices would speak but there was no comprehension. Only noise. Flashes of colour flitted by. Moving shapes. Undulating curtains. Beeping machines. Droning engines. Puffs of dry wind blew in her face.
Microseconds of reality blared and were cut off. Snippets inserted in between nightmares, delirium and pain. If not vertigo, dizziness and nausea.
She was lost. Didn't know when or where she was or even what her name was. There was no road. No way to find what she had lost or forgotten or if she was lost. Sometimes she'd remember. And then it would be gone again. As if she was cutting bits of herself out. Someone was cutting her mind up.
Then she was in her apartment, cutting snowflake patterns out on the floor. This one was no good. That one was no good. There were bits of paper covering the entire carpet. They weren't pretty. Not the right pattern or shape. She had perfect examples in her head of how it should look, but making the snowflakes was so difficult with bad paper. She had to cut the bad, rotten bits in the paper out first. The blunt scissors were clumsy in her hands. No precision.
She was worried. Anxious. Cutting in a hurry. Afraid of the knock on the door that might come at any moment. This had to be finished before danger arrived. And the ominous footstep was drawing nearer. She knew it. It was bad. Very, very bad.
There was no time to go home. No way to say goodbye to her parents or see them one last time. Sometimes she struggled to escape back to them but when she arrived, they couldn't see her. Couldn't hear her. Sometimes they dug a hole and buried her, unaware she was still alive. Sometimes Mr Huo or a beastman would come to kidnap her and carry her away before her parents could see her.
Spiraling out of control. Everything was out of control. Chaos reigned and particles collided. Swirling like water being flushed down the toilet.
That was right. One needed to flush the toilet after use. Then all the disgusting stuff would disappear. She pressed the button and heard the gushing, sucking and gurgling sound of the toilet being flushed.
Gone. Everything was gone.
Good.
It was a relief when everything went black. Like the start of a movie or when it's time to sleep. All the lights went out. All the noise stopped. Movement was suspended. And then there was silence. Blessed, empty silence and the never ending dark.