Surreality

It was evident that she had been lost to the world for a while now- eyes glazed over and unseeing, feet tapping without a rhythm, an open textbook fluttering in the breeze. Which realm could she be stuck in?

Oh, the possibilities.

"Charge!" she yelled, urging her horse to go faster as she led her soldiers into battle. The harsh wind whipped her hair back, revealing the face of a fierce warrior, jaw clenched and eyes flashing. With a shiink she unsheathed her sword, ploughing through the enemies and leaving a trail of destruction in her wake.

Mercy was not an option, she had drilled into the minds of her soldiers. They swung, struck, stabbed, and decapitated. Mercy did not bear fruit, she had said. They remorselessly slaughtered their opponents, one by one, until there were none left. Mercy, she had said, was weak. And they were strong. Ruthless. Powerful.

But as she stood in the middle of the bloodied battlefield, looking at a severed arm, she couldn't make sense of the swirling emotions in her head. She shook her head, blinking, and turned away. She had to avenge her mother's death. This was the only way. 

She woke up, looking startled, as the distinct sound of a door closing was heard. She squinted at the clock, wiping the drool from her chin. Realising it was past midnight, she guiltily glanced at her textbook before shutting it closed with finality. Yawning, she got up and stumbled through her bedroom door for a glass of water. She felt her way down the dark corridor to the kitchen, a path well-worn from midnight snack expeditions.

Reaching the entrance to the kitchen, she turned for the light switch and unexpectedly tripped, falling flat on her face. Grimacing at the impact on her nose, she stood up and fumbled about for the switch until she finally found it. She blinked a couple of times, shielding her eyes from the sudden brightness, before looking for what made her trip. And froze- staring uncomprehendingly, confusedly, at the image before her. Staring until the image burned itself behind her eyelids and she screamed her throat hoarse for help. Staring until her father came thundering down the stairs and stood in shock next to her, before calling the police. Staring until someone came and gently took her away from the scene.

Away from her mother’s dead body lying on the kitchen floor, arms and legs akimbo. And from the bloody smile that now accentuated her mother’s long, slender neck, mocking her for the dream she had earlier.