Darkest Hour

Dreams

    The tree line blurs as the woman runs through the woods, her breath frantic. She could hear her pursuers getting closer and she lengthened her strides, running faster than she ever did before. The hurried footsteps behind her started to get further and further away as she ran faster. She had to get away or else... she knew she would never see the light of day again. Continuing on her path, there was nothing but dark woods and thick foliage around her. Running straight ahead, eyes focusing on what's in front, she didn't notice the presence watching her as she was getting closer to the waiting point. She started to smile and cry at the same time as she heard her pursuers footsteps getting fainter. She was losing them until... *CLACK*

    I woke up with a start, gasping for breath. My heart was beating a mile a minute and I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths: In, 1, Out, 2. I started to feel more in control after the 4th breath. Taking in my surroundings, I noticed I was still in my room. I took in the hard oak wood dresser and closet door in front of my bed, the window overlooking the woods to my right, and the baby blue walls engulfing me with their comfort. The door to the hallway was partway open to my left, illuminating part of the bed end and dresser with a faint light. I was safe from whatever was chasing that unknown woman in my dream. I looked at my plain black comforter and bedsheets. They were soaked through with sweat…. AND MY FAVORITE GREY TANK TOP AND BLACK SHORTS. Groaning, I pick up my phone and turn on the home screen, blinking at the bright light and letting my eyes adjust to see the time. 3 AM. The witching hour. Great. For the past three and a half weeks, I have been having the same dream over and over again, waking up at 3 AM EVERY. SINGLE. DAMN. TIME. I fall back into the safety of my covers, trying to get more sleep. A few seconds pass by and I abruptly get up. I take off the bedsheets and comforter to get them washed. I live in a small 1-bedroom, 1-full bath apartment with a dainty kitchen and living room. It’s enough for me. The washer and dryer were right beside the kitchen entrance. Throwing the comforter and sheets in the wash, I strip out of tank-top, bra, shorts, and panties to throw them in too. Putting it on the heavy-duty setting, I walked back towards my room and go into the bathroom to take a shower. The water takes a while to heat up, so the music gets amped up on my phone. Dark Dreams by Blood on the Dance Floor starts playing.

All these darks dreams

Gotta mean something

All Alone late at night,

When the nightmares come alive…

“How ironic,” I mutter, “can’t even have a nice f*****g shower.” I turn off the music and hop in, quickly rinsing off the sweat. The shower only lasted 5 minutes and I grabbed the black body towel from its holder. I quickly dried off my body and shoulder-length black hair. Stepping out of the shower, I go up to the mirror and wipe away the steam with a corner of the towel. Sighing, I look at my reflection. A little bit of dad and A LOT of mom, I think. I had my dad’s mesmerizing brown eyes that turn hazel when in the sun and my mom’s facial and body structure. Her almond shaped eyes stare back at me as I examine my face: high cheek bones, petite nose, full lips… dark circles under my eyes and stress lines all over. My mom, Eleana Hopkins, was a short 5’2” and all Latina. She didn’t teach me how to speak Spanish, but I understood most of what she was saying at times. I didn’t just get most of her looks… I had her fiery personality too. We would always clash whenever one of us spoke. My dad, James Hopkins, was the polar opposite of my mom. He was 5’8”, a mix of Indian and Caucasian, quiet, and the best dad in the world. He was always there to calm my mother and I down when we fought over the stupidest things, like when pink socks somehow got in the whites laundry load or the scissors weren’t put in the right drawer. He was pretty much our Jiminy Cricket. During the day at least…. That’s how we acted. At night, they would change into their work personas: the Blood Butterfly (my mom) and the Poison Viper (my dad). They were the top assassins within the Draco Conglomerate, a multi-million dollar organization that dealt with multiple industries: food and services, make-up… hitmen, assassins… you name it, they got it. My parents were on a secret mission 5 years ago.

*Flashback*

It was right after my 13th birthday. They left at dawn and were supposed to return by dusk the same day… but they never showed up. I waited for 3 long and dread-filled days until I heard a knock on the door of our North Carolina home, my childhood house. I remember it clearly. I ran to the door and opened it excitedly... only to find a box. On that box was a name ‘Laura Hopkins’. My name. I hoisted the box up and brought it inside. It was heavy, but I’ve been training with my parents since I was 6 years old. I put the box down in the foyer and opened it. Inside was two urns. I felt myself grow pale and tears threatened to spill over. There was a note inside that only said two words:

My Condolences

Sobbing uncontrollably, I looked at the names on the urns between blurring tears. The left urn had Eleana Hopkins engraved in the top. The right, James Hopkins. I started screaming, “NO NO NOOOOOO! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME! MOM! DAD! YOU LIARS!!! YOU SAID YOU WOULD COME BACK!!”

I fell to my knees and started beating the hardwood floors until my hands bled. I was never the same.

*Flashback end*

I glance down at my phone and the time was 4:50 AM.

“Fuckin’ ey! I’m gonna be late!” I scurried to get ready for work. I threw the stuff from the wash into the dryer, got dressed, turned off the lights, and ran through the front door.