I woke up with a start, my heart racing and my breath coming in short gasps. The familiar feeling of dread lingered, a constant companion I'd grown accustomed to over the past three years. I lay in bed, my sheets tangled around my legs, as the remnants of my nightmare faded like sand slipping through my fingers.
It's always the same dream, the same fear, the same desperate attempt to escape. I'm running down a dark, endless hallway, the air thick with an unseen presence. A white light beckons in the distance, my only hope for salvation. But the shadow behind me is relentless, its presence growing stronger with every step.
As I run, the floor beneath me seems to shift and twist, making it harder to find my footing. The shadow gains ground, its dark tendrils reaching out to snatch me. Just when all hope seems lost, I wake up.
At first, the nightmare terrified me. I'd wake up screaming, my heart pounding in my chest. But over time, the fear gave way to a sense of resignation. This is my reality, a recurring dream that refuses to let me go.
I threw off the covers and got out of bed, my movements mechanical. I've been having this dream for three years, ever since I was found wandering the streets with no memory of who I was or where I came from. The only clue was my name, Alexandra Storm, which I was told was the name on a note in my pocket.
I padded over to the window and pulled back the curtains, letting the morning light flood in. The world outside is bright and normal, a stark contrast to the dark, twisted landscape of my dreams.
I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering fear. It's just a dream, I told myself. It doesn't mean anything. But as I turned away from the window, I couldn't shake the feeling that the shadow in my dream was more than just a product of my imagination. It's a reminder that there are things in the darkness, waiting to pounce. And I'm running out of time.