CLAWS WIDE OPEN

I was kneeling The floor was cold and unforgiving beneath my knees. The darkness around me was absolute, except for the faint moonlight filtering through grimy windows. The eerie glow cast an otherworldly ambiance, making my skin prickle. My hands were clasped together, palms upward, as if in prayer. I relaxed my fingers , and unfurled palms to see them coated in blood . Thick, vicous trickling down my wrist, i stared transfixed confused as the blood seemed to pulse with life of it's own . Blood pooled in my hands, glistening in the faint light. I looked up to see a figure appeare from the chaos.His face was distorted , feautures blurred , shifting and reforming into a twisted mosaic. His eyes like two shattered stars refracted through the darkness. But it was the pain that truly defined his eyes. A pain so profound it seemed to reverberate through every cell of my beign , awakening my own dormant agonie. He stood across the room, shrouded in shadows. I tried to rise, to move toward him, but my feet felt rooted. The air thickened, heavy with anticipation. Then, the floor beneath me gave way. I plummeted downward, wind rushing past my face. My stomach dropped, and my heart screamed. I tried to scream my mouth opened, lips stretching wide , yet no sound escaped. Falling, falling, falling… * * * I jolted awake, gasping. I sat up in bed, I was drenched in sweat, my hair clung to my forehead damp and tangled. My chest heaved sweat soaking through my tank top. my sheets were tangled around my legs. Just a dream My heart still racing, I threw off the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The morning light streaming through my window seemed like a cruel joke, too bright, too cheerful, a stark contrast to the darkness that lingered within me. I rubbed my palms together, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of blood. Just a dream Same dream. I've had these dreams every night since I was old enough to remember them. The nightmares were now a steady companion, a shadow that follows me into wakefulness. The variations were endless: sometimes I'm running, desperate to escape; sometimes I'm trapped in a house, searching for a way out; sometimes I'm falling, plummeting into the abyss. But the details remain constant: Blood. Darkness. Fear. And those eyes. Always the same pair of eyes. Piercing, intense, and unmistakably male. They haunt me, lingering in the recesses of my mind like a specter. No matter how hard I try to shake them off, they remain, watching and waiting. Dr. Lee my therapist says it's my subconscious trying to process unresolved trauma. But I've had a happy childhood, loving parents, supportive friends. What trauma could I possibly have?. Yes I've always been the odd one growing up, despite being loved and cared for. The shy kid who hid behind books . The one who's been in therapy since elementary school. Diagnosed with Nocturnal anxiety disorder and depression, I've had to learn early to manage my emotions with medications and sessions after sessions of therapy and all through my family's support has been unwavering. My parents were both lawyers who came from three generations of lawyers ,everyone naturally assumed I would too. Their legacy waiting for me like an heirloom. Freshman year I enrolled as undeclared, didn't want to settle on anything yet but with each passing semester the pressure mounted. ' what's your major?' Everyone asked . I had no answer, I just took electives. Trying to find my fit. Philosophy, business,-- nothing clicked. A friends recommended I take art classes to cope with stress and I quickly realized how natural it felt and I was good at it so I decided to major in art. To say my parents were disappointed would be the least. But they supported me. Mom was just happy I'd finish something – anything. But now, at 22, fresh out of college .Navigating life as an artist isn't easy. Self-doubt creeps in, and nightmares linger. Dr. Lee says I'm making progress, but some days, it feels like two steps forward, three steps back. Sometimes I wonder if it's not about what happened but what didn't. A lack of excitement, perhaps , or a sense of purpose. My life has been comfortable, predictable. Is that enough to trigger this darkness within?. I glance around my small apartment, filled with half-finished canvases and scattered paints. This is my sanctuary, my escape. My art had taken off, gaining recognition both online and offline. People praised my work, saying it felt haunted and otherworldly. I couldn't help but think they were describing me, not my art. I shuffled to the kitchen, starting the coffee. The aroma filled the air, grounding me in reality. I sighed, pouring myself a cup of coffee. The dreams were exhausting, The dreams were exhausting, draining my soul with each passing night ,but my art kept me going. With every brushstroke, every sculpted shape, I poured out my emotions, exorcising the shadows that haunted me. Colors danced on canvas, vibrant and alive, defying the nightmares that sought to consume me. When I drew, I found fleeting peace, my creative voice screaming louder than the whispers of my dreams. As I walked to my studio, the morning light danced across my canvases, infusing the space with warmth. My latest piece, "Echoes in the Dark," seemed to pulse with life. – it was a glimpse into my darkest nightmares. My phone rang, shattering the peaceful atmosphere. I smiled as I answered, "Hey, Mom." "Hey, sweetie!" Her warm voice filled the line, a comforting balm to my frazzled nerves. "Just checking in before your busy day. How's life?" I hesitated, I wanted to tell her I'd started having those dreams again after nearly two blissful months of silence. How disappointed I was because I thought I'd gotten better but they'd returned with a vengeance, more vivid and more intense than ever. But i couldn't bear to worry her so i said " Still figuring it out, but I'm happy " forcing a brightness into my voice Moms response was instant "That's all that matters sweetie. No one has it figured out. I know I don't, and I'm 53" That made me smile. "Don't forget, your dad's birthday is next week," she reminded me "We're planning a family dinner." "I've got it marked, Mom. I promise I won't forget." "Great!" She exclaimed "I was thinking, why don't you make one of your beautiful art pieces for his gift?" My heart swelled. "That's a wonderful idea, Mom. I'll get started on something special." "Alright Love you, you need anything call me ok?" "Sure. Love you too . Bye ". The call ended, leaving me feeling loved and encouraged . Mom's words always had a way of calming my nerves. As I placed my phone on the counter, a notification flashed: "Lunch Date with Caleb- 12:30 PM" I rolled my eyes and silenced it. Sarah knew I'd try to forget. Just then, my phone buzzed with a text: "Hey, gorgeous! Don't think you can ignore the reminder. Get dressed, girl! You've got a date!" - Sarah I chuckled. How did she know me so well?. "Already on it," I replied, "But no promises." Sarah's response came instantly: "Promises or not, you're going! 12:30, don't be late". I sighed, feeling resigned to my fate. "Guess I'm going on this date," I thought. Surrendering to Sarah's matchmaking plans. Standing in front of my closet, I stared blankly at the array of dresses. Why did I let Sarah talk me into this again? I stood in front of my closet, contemplating the outfit for my lunch date. Caleb, the guy Sarah had been raving about, awaited me at a cafe at 12:30 PM. "Get dressed, girl! You've got a date!" Sarah's text echoed in my mind, followed by her voice: keep it Casual, yet Stylish." I settled on a lightweight, pastel pink blouse and a pair of dark wash skinny jeans– simple yet elegant. I slipped on my favorite ballet flats, adding a touch of sophistication. Next, I tackled my hair – a effortless, undone look. A quick tousle with my fingers, and I was done. Makeup-wise, I opted for natural: light foundation, subtle blush, and defined brows.A spritz of citrusy perfume, and I felt refreshed. I couldn't help but think about how much I'd rather be spending my afternoon alone, lost in my art or a good book. Meeting new people made me feel vulnerable, exposed. The thought of navigating unfamiliar conversations and forced conversations made my stomach twist in knots. I grabbed my clutch and coat then checked my phone. Another reminder by sarah buzzed on the screen : "Almost time. You look fabulous, I hope!" I rolled my eyes, smiling wryly. Time to put on a brave face. "This is just lunch , after all , Abbie." I told myself. I took one last glance in the mirror scrutinizing my reflection.My nose was too small, my lips too thin, and my freckles too scattered. My red hair fell in tangled locks down my back, and my green eyes an unsettling shade that made me feel like a stranger in my own skin, seemed dull and tired. My lean body appeared gangly and un feminine. I looked plain, unremarkable. "Ready or not, here I go," I whispered, plastering a smile on my face. Fake it till you make it. With a deep breath, i opened the door.The warm sunlight greeting me, I immerse felt a sense of optimism. Maybe this date won't be so bad, I thought ,stepping out. But those eyes lingered watching me from the shadows of my mind.