It is...Astraios wrote:So, I got bored this evening, and wrote this. I regret it now, because writing it seriously freaked me out (it's based on one of my own nightmares, and I am a very nervous person, so it's pretty easy for me to be creeped out by a nightmare from when I was a child), but here.
I wrote:His eyes snapped open. It made no difference to the blackness, and the slow chill of damp was seeping up from the unforgiving slabs. There was no sound, but the drowning silence roared painfully in his ears, sharp as broken glass, and each noisy breath was emptier of air than the last. He felt immensely heavy, as though his very soul had turned to a lump of ice-cold lead, and there was a crushing tightness wrapping inexorably around him, squeezing him out of existence. His limbs no longer belonged to him—they seemed pinned to the stone. He gurgled once, deep in his throat, and the sound rattled and echoed off unseen walls. With a Herculean effort, he rolled his eyes upwards and watched helplessly, unable to blink, as a bubble of black burst from the pale, numb face suspended above his own. His stinging eyes were bulging, stained by broken bloodvessels. Within moments he was blind again, the skeletal face hidden behind a filmy layer of freezing tears that refused to fall. The invisible fist surrounding him clenched still harder, and a sudden snap cracked through his already lacerated eardrums like a bullet. The pain took longer to arrive through his deadened arm, but when it did he screamed, a horrible sound devoid of emotion, made louder as it was joined by the mocking echoes. The echoes seemed to shift and grow in number, circling, crowding in on him, buffetting him from every angle, until he could feel the air stir at their passing, and smell the fetid stench they brought with them-,
His eyes snapped open. It made no difference to the blackness, and the slow chill of damp was seeping up from the unforgiving concrete. There was no sound, but the oppressive silence roared in his ears, sharp as glass, and each labouring breath was emptier of air than the last. He felt immensely heavy, as though his soul had become ice-cold lead within him, and there was a crushing tightness insinuating itself over his body, squeezing him out of existence. He contracted the muscles in his little finger, found that he could move it. With a throaty gurgle that echoed and bounced off unseen walls, he heaved himself upwards until his upper body was supported on his bruised elbows. His eyes would not close, and he watched in helpless horror as a black bubble burst from the grey lips so close above his own. His bloodshot eyes began to water, and within moments he was blind again, the skeletal face hidden behind a filmy layer of freezing tears that refused to fall. The invisible fist clenched once more, and a sharp report whipped through the grimy air and pierced his already lacerated eardrums like a bullet. The pain was slow to arrive through his unresponsive nerves, but when it did he screamed, a horrible sound devoid of emotion, made louder as it was joined by the cruel laughter of the echoes. The echoes seemed to shift and grow in number, circling, crowding in on him, buffetting him from every angle, until he could feel the air stir at their passing, and smell the fetid stench they brought with them-,
His eyes snapped open. It made no difference to the blackness, and the slow chill of damp was seeping up from the unforgiving rock. There was no sound, but the deep silence roared in his ears, sharp as glass, and each strained breath was emptier of air than the last. He felt immensely heavy, as though his soul was turned to ice-cold lead within him, and there was a crushing tightness cloaking and choking him, squeezing him out of existence. He contracted the muscles in his right leg, found that he could move it. Like a drowning man he gurgled deep in his throat, and as the sound ricocheted and echoed off unseen walls, he struggled upwards into a sitting position. His eyes would not close, so he turned his head as far away as he could from the gaunt face above him as a black bubble burst from its cold lips. His bloodshot eyes stung, and within moments he was blind again, the dead darkness hidden behind a filmy layer of freezing tears that refused to fall. The invisible fist clenched once more, and a loud crack shot through his already lacerated eardrums like a bullet. The pain was slow to arrive through his unresponsive arm, but when it did he screamed, a horrible sound devoid of emotion, made louder as it was joined the mocking laughter of the echoes. The echoes seemed to shift and grow in number, circling, crowding in on him, buffetting him from every angle, until he could feel the air stir at their passing, and smell the fetid stench they brought with them-,
He fell sideways onto the hard stone with another scream, trying to defy the echoes, clutching his broken wrist in agony, painfully drawing in what little of the grimy air was left. It took a few moments before he realised that the suffocating blanket of pressure was gone, and that the air was not freezing and dirty, but cool and thick with of the scent of pine trees. The echoes still reverberating in his head were not terrifying, but reassuring—the sounds of a dinner party downstairs—and the floor onto which he fell was not black stone, but deep brown planks of polished wood. He heard a set of heavy footsteps running up the stairs, and the landing light switched on, flooding into his room under the door where it was badly fitted. The door swung open, and he threw up a hand against the glowing lamps. Then he was enveloped by a warm pair of arms and held against a solid chest, and there were soft words murmuring his name into his hair, and a hand rubbed his sweating back comfortingly.
His eyelids drifted downwards, and he fell into an exhausted, mercifully dreamless sleep.
Thoughts?
interesting.
A little repetitive.
Do you have dreams like this often?
Or you could put a great big asterisk in each window, with a note on the bottom: *this is a window 
