TERRER'S ASYLUM             


              Eye lids flickered as heat beat down on them from above. Eyes beneath them opening, looking upward. The sun sat high up in the cloudless blue sky. Eyes blinked as their owner continues to stare up into the shining yellow orb. A giggle was heard off to he side and the figure raised its self, its gaze turning toward the source of the sound. The smiling face of a caramel skinned woman came into view, a smile spread across the figures face. “Anora” said a deep male voice from the mouth of the figure. The woman giggled again as her smile grew wider. “It’s nice to see that you’ve finally woken up, Terrer.” She said in her soft melodic voice. Terrer rubbed his eyes and smiled again. “How long was I out, lo--“ He stopped. His eyes growing wide as he shuffled backward. Anora’s face began to twist and contort before his eyes; her features oozing and melding into each other. “What’s wrong, love?” the nightmare asked as its mouth dripped from its chin. It reached out to him with a deformed arm, its flesh dripping from it. He scrabbled backward, trying to rise to his feet and run from the thing. “Get the hell away from me!” he yelled, kicking at the out stretched limb. A wet sucking sound, like stepping into mud, followed his foot as it meet with the nightmare’s arm. He tried to wrench himself away from her, but his foot only sunk in deeper, its melting skin holding him fast. It slowly began to pull him closer, while he continued to thrash and writhe the ground. His finger nails scraped the ground as he tried to grip it, desperately tiring to pull away. Not thinking he kicked out with his free leg, the foot attached to it meeting the same fate and becoming lodged in its chest. A week pathetic whimper escaped him as he was pulled closer to the freakish mutated creature, it’s dripping warping flesh up to his neck in seconds. A shiver ran down his spine as it began to envelope his head, the will to live gone from him as his struggling ceased. Before he could even blink the flesh mush flowed over his face and flooded his nose and mouth, drowning him as it filled his lungs.

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                     Terrer woke from his nightmare with a gasp, bolting up right on his cot, sweat soaked sheet clinging to his pale chest. Beads of the salty liquid dripping from his brow and down into his eyes. “Oh…oh God…” he mumbled, lowering his head into his hands. “Anora….oh God.” He shook his head slowly his eyes shut tightly, holding back tears. This is the third night, he thought, this is the third night I have dreamt about her. Why, why of all the things that could plague my dreams, why her? He shook his head again and lowered his hands slowly. He lifted his head and blinked his blood shot eyes, looking about his “cell.” The half dead florescent lights flickered on the ceiling, briefly brightening the already blindingly bright white padding on the walls. An upturned box sat against the wall opposite of his cot, and acted as a table. An M4 carbine with a flashlight taped to the barrel sat on top of it, next to a half empty coffee cup and an opened box of ammunition. Beside the box there was a brown humming mini-fridge and a smaller open box next to that, dirty clothes hanging from the flaps. On the back wall there was a gray filing cabinet, a number of empty clips and a key ring sitting on top of it. Then slowly –and reluctantly-Terrer’s gaze turned to the thickly padded door, three large gleaming locks bolted above the stainles steel knob. They were only things keeping the great steel divide that was his door in place, the only thing keeping them out. He rose slowly from the sweat soaked sheets around him and made his way toward the door. Trying each lock to be sure that every thing was at it was when he went to sleep. Finding everything in order he skulked over to the filing cabinet, opening up on of the lower drawers and pulling out a pair of black cargo pants and a bright white scrub top. Pulling both articles on quickly he reached into the drawer again and pulled a pair of black boots, sitting on the cot briefly as he busied himself with lacing them. Once fully dressed, he dropped down onto his haunches in front of the small refrigerator and pulled the door open. A grimace contorted his lips as he looked inside. All that law within the unit was a small half eaten apple and a carton of milk that had gray fuzz growing on the side. He sighed deeply and rose to his feet again, closing the door with his foot. “Great,” he mumbled reaching for the carbine on the table, casting a brief glare at the padded steel door. “Just my luck.” He slung the gun over his shoulder and took two of the clips from the top of the cabinet, quickly filling them and stuffing them into a pocket. “Gotta go through hell to get my breakfast…Just my fuckn’ luck.” Picking up the key ring he stepped slowly toward the door, taking his time with opening each lock. Gripping the knob and grimacing once more, he turned it even slower, the sound of the spring pulling back filling the small room. With a shove of his shoulder, he pushed away his shield and stepped out into ASYLUM…



~WELCOME TO HELL