Surrender the Night

Falling, he was falling. He screamed and his throat felt raw. There was no sound except for wind. There was fear in his heart as he looked around worriedly, he couldn't see anything but blackness. But his eyes stopped on another person who was next to him. He has had these dreams before with the same mysterious man. He had wild black inky hair. He was tall and lengthy, with pale skin and long slender hands. He was weirdly drawn to him although he had never seen his face. He was falling with his back below him, so his hair covered his face once again like the other dreams. There was a bright blinding light below them. He screamed as he couldn’t see anything except for the white light approaching quickly and the boy. He was scared, more scared than he has ever felt in real life. The mysterious boy grabbed her hand. His hand was cold, and icy. Then they disappeared into the white ibis.

He flung upright in his bed, coughing and choking. His throat still felt raw, and he was sweaty from the fear. His heart was racing and pounding. He took a deep breathe of the cool air in his room. He lifted his hand, inspecting it, the boys touch was gone but the strange coldness stayed. He let himself fall back onto the sheets, where he had been laying in that terrible dream. The warm blankets were messily at his hips and his sheets had been pushed messily all the way down to the bottom of the wood bed frame. He felt a chill wind float through his room, cold specks landed on his skin. It felt good for a few minutes, but then it made him shiver. His window was open and the white blinds on each side were floating inward from the wind. It was the middle of winter, his personal favorite time of year, except for the fact he couldn’t see the stars and the moon. He got up, exposing his bare legs and chest to the cold wind, sending shivers down his spine once again. He was just wearing gym shorts, causing the cold to rise goosebumps on his arms and legs. It took some strength to push his window down in this old creaky house. His room was painted sky blue, with a white ceiling. There were Iron Maiden, Antrax, and other band posters lining the cracked old walls, causing the blue to be barely seen. There was a black and white plaid comforter on his bed, which was in the right corner. Across the room from his twin bed was the window he was standing at. He inspected the sight outside. The snow was small but falling quickly. He couldn’t see the stars and the constellations he loved so much, hell, he couldn’t even see the moon. There was about a foot and a half of snow in the ground. And as his glowing alarm clock said on the nightstand next to the bed it was barely 12, making him dread the drive to school in the morning. He sighed and crawled into bed, ignoring the sheets crumpled up at the end. He stared at the snow, it was a blur of white lines across his window. He wished for a decent nights sleep but, as he knew already, that wasn’t going to happen. The sight of the snow calmed him, even though it was an endless pattern of blurred white lines. Somehow the sight told him that he wasn’t the only thing falling.

After a half hour of gawking at the window he got up and dragged his relaxed body to his wood desk. The desk was diagonal from his bed and bookcase full of comics which was in the right corner. His desk was next to the door. He opened one of the drawers, and got out a beaten up sketchpad. The cover looked about ready to come off and there were loose papers in the back. He opened to a new page of the book. A pencil was yanked from the place it was, in the small can full of them to his right. He started to draw the boy, for the millionth time. He obsessed over this boy and wanted to know who he was, what his face looked like. Somehow, every dream he had he would feel like he had known him, known him like he knew himself. It was strange, and the dreams were almost always different. Fire, water, earthquake, tornado, falling, always something dangerous. Some dreams he could hear his voice, begging him to let him go and save himself. But others were silent, like a silent movie. He felt like the ones with sound were worse than without. His voice would be panicked and stressed, but calm as he tried to convince him to let him go.
He was easy to draw, he had a prominent jaw line, but his hair was wild and harder to draw exactly as he had seen in his dreams. He remembered his slender hands and the scorpion tattoo on his neck, from what he had saw that was the only tattoo he had. It was strange how he obsessed over a man he had never seen and known before.
Once he was done he leaned back, inspecting the paper. He was falling, as in his last dream, but he had him smiling. He had his hand outstretched, with his face facing the same way. He sighed, flipping through the other sketches and drawings he had drawn of him. There was one where he was surrounded by flames. Another where he was falling off the edge of a cliff and the only thing saving him was himself. He felt like it was somehow his job to protect this man from inevitable death. Even if that meant following him off the cliff, or burning to ashes in his arms. He was strangely drawn to him, he felt like being close to him, although they could never be safe, he was always more worried about losing him than satisfying that urge to be near him.

He looked out the window, turning his chair and inspecting the sky. Then he looked at the glowing alarm clock. It glowed 5. He turned back to the window and watched the sky get lighter. This was miserable to him, he didn't like watching the sun come up. It was slow and he wished he would be sleeping instead of watching the same thing everyday.

Notes

Um, hope you like...


xoxo Death Obsessed