Amid the darkness, I could see a forsaken little girl, her plaintive screams echoing through the emptiness. As I drew near, I witnessed tears of blood, an unsettling crimson cascade. The windows of her soul mirrored terror as her gaze abruptly shifted. Her lips trembled, hands shaking and eyes wandering. Only then did my awareness grasp the ominous figure lurking — an enigmatic man donned in a black mask. His predatory eyes had a menacing aura, ready to pounce on the vulnerable child.
Suddenly, she disappeared…
Beep, beep! The scene that played out was interrupted by the intrusive blare of my alarm.
A mere year ago, I began to have nightmares. An uninvited guest infiltrated my dreams, commandeering the artistic sanctuary of my mind. My sculptures were birthed from the wellspring of purity and innocence, capturing the butterflies and nature but now… they warped into a manifestation of my nightmares.
As I entered my studio, the specter of that masked man haunted my waking thoughts. My conscious self took control as my hands began to shape the malevolent form that had visited me in my sleep. The tormentor’s countenance was grotesque and the nightmarish. His mask, twisted, clung to his face like a second skin. Predatory eyes glowed in luminescence, and peered out from the mask’s hollow sockets, displaying malice. Strings of unruly, midnight-black hair snaked out from beneath the edges of the mask, resembling the tendrils of some peculiar creature. His skin, pale and leathery, as though he were a creature spawned from the shadows. Upon completion, I stood back to behold a creation that mirrored the phantom of my mind.
I looked at the personification of my nightmare and was about to leave the studio like most days but I stilled…
An unsettling feeling seized me. As I stood in the dimly lit studio, the weight of my bag in my hands felt oddly foreign. An invisible force, seized me, urging me to destroy the sculpted embodiment of the masked tormentor. With each swing, the rhythmic impact of the bag against the sculpture resonated with the echoes of her plaintive screams, forging an unholy symphony of destruction. I felt her emotions coursing through me — intimidation, angst, and a surge of liberating satisfaction as the fragments of the dark manifestation crumbled beneath the force of my blows. The fragments, once a manifestation of my nightmare, found their final resting place in the bin — symbolic of the haunting visions that now bled into reality.
As I turned away, a shiver went up my spine, an inexplicable sensation urging me to glance back. There, in the shadows, the forsaken little girl from my dreams stood. Her eyes seemed emptier than before but glistened with an otherworldly satisfaction. A macabre smile played upon her lips, a silent applause for the destruction of the sculpted manifestation of her tormentor.
As the final shards of the shattered sculpture settled in the bin, there lingered a palpable stillness in the studio. The little girl’s presence seemed to fade, leaving behind an eerie sense of calm. The air carried a faint whisper of vindication. As I left the studio, all my fears had disappeared and oddly, there was only one emotion I felt — ecstasy.
