In the blackness, all she could do was grope at the air with her small fingers and hope to grasp something solid, something real. Jaynee, scared and disoriented, stumbled around in a clumsy dance, wanting the nightmare to end. Still out of breath from what seemed like an endless period of sprinting in nothingness, she desperately willed her eyes to see and adjust, but there was nothing for them to adjust for because there was nothing to see. Still, she could not, or would not, call out for help in this silence, whether her voice was suppressed by stubbornness or denial of fear.
But suppression could only hold her voice back for so long before it escaped in a high pitched scream as finally she felt some solid, something real–something sharp. It pierced her hip as her vocals sliced the air, shredding the night and the nightmare.
She woke up.
Her fingertips found her hip and ran over the thin scars from her childhood that healed haphazardly, feeling their chaotic pattern and smoothness as unreal as that night. She sighed, rolled over and banged into the tree she forgot she was next to. With an annoyed grunt the weary girl stood up on her athletic legs, brushing off the dried grass. Stretching, she observed the setting sun, painting the sky dull yellow and bright orange, reflecting the color of her own disheveled hair. She remembered what she had first set out to do–hunt down a certain man as she was ordered–and what she ended up doing–sleeping. Sleep was something she lacked because of the places she went during her unconsciousness. There wasn’t anything she could do about it, but she could function just as well without it. Well, mostly.
Scratching her head, she looked around, no man here. Time to go back. Sticking her hands in the pockets of her loose-fitting camo pants, she thought up a few explanations as she trudged slowly back to the HQ and yawned again, knowing that it wouldn’t really matter if she took it easy for a few days and enjoyed the world a bit. It’s not like she was short on headcount. On the contrary, she was far ahead.
The “Prompted Ramble” posts: 5-10 minute freewrites (with approximately 5 minutes of minor editing) prompted by the first sentence, in bold. (They force me to write something fun besides poetry more often.) This one is actually longer than 10 minutes…