The nightmare was never ending.
Even as Laura found herself flung voluntarily into the corner of the bathroom, slammed up against her dirty washing basked, which sat between the tub and the vanity, she struggled to keep herself alert. She gulped in large mouthfuls of air because habit told her that it would help, but her lungs felt like useless bags of nothing. The inflated and deflated like they should, but nothing else happened. Oxygen meant nothing. Of course, Laura didn’t understand this, but her body did. Her body no longer wanted it.
The blonde’s vision swam, but she could see the blisters on Mackinnley’s face. There was no light in here, besides the little green bulb that told her the electric toothbrush was charged, and the flashing numbers on the washing machine’s digital face. But still, it was enough. It was as if the entire room were bathed in the eerie green glow; but even against it, she could see the blistering red on Mackinnley’s face—the violent destruction that the sun had rendered there.
The way he looked at her, Laura knew that her face looked exactly the same. The expression on his face was nothing, then, compared to what it turned into when he looked in the mirror. It was just mild fear anymore. It was terror. Or, well, it looked like terror to Laura. Her mouth went slack, and though her entire body protested, she stood. Her fingers hooked around the vanity’s corner and she hauled herself up to stand. She, too, looked in the mirror, just to see what Mackinnley could see. Which was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
At first it didn’t register. Laura was so groggy and so achingly tired that she couldn’t understand why Mackinnley should be so horrified. But then it clicked. All she could see was the reflection of the wall opposite the mirror—the mirror, which was round, oval, with an antique, white, flaking, curlicued frame. There was no Mackinnley. And there was no Laura.
But she couldn’t react like she ought to. Although she was filled with the exact same terror that she thought she could read upon Mackinnley’s features, she couldn’t react upon it. A power beyond her control had a grip on her, and she just wanted to sink to the floor. Instead, she dragged herself over to the tub and slipped inside. Like a cat, she craved the smallest, most confined space. She wanted to find a box to hide in, as if she could shut out the world. But there were no boxes, and the tub was the second-best thing.
She crawled in. She wanted to beg Mackinnley to crawl in with her. And though her mouth opened to voice the words and her hand stretched out to lure him in, no words came. Her arm fell limp—along with the rest of her body—and Laura was dead to the world. Asleep, though she would look dead. She would feel dead, to any living person. None of her vital signs would show any signs of life. There were still large black crescents under her eyes, and her lips were slightly blue—she looked horrific, especially given the new garish red blisters all over her face and neck. But there was nothing she could do about it.
She saw nothing but darkness. Complete and black. There weren’t even any dreams. She may as well have been dead.
Even as Laura found herself flung voluntarily into the corner of the bathroom, slammed up against her dirty washing basked, which sat between the tub and the vanity, she struggled to keep herself alert. She gulped in large mouthfuls of air because habit told her that it would help, but her lungs felt like useless bags of nothing. The inflated and deflated like they should, but nothing else happened. Oxygen meant nothing. Of course, Laura didn’t understand this, but her body did. Her body no longer wanted it.
The blonde’s vision swam, but she could see the blisters on Mackinnley’s face. There was no light in here, besides the little green bulb that told her the electric toothbrush was charged, and the flashing numbers on the washing machine’s digital face. But still, it was enough. It was as if the entire room were bathed in the eerie green glow; but even against it, she could see the blistering red on Mackinnley’s face—the violent destruction that the sun had rendered there.
The way he looked at her, Laura knew that her face looked exactly the same. The expression on his face was nothing, then, compared to what it turned into when he looked in the mirror. It was just mild fear anymore. It was terror. Or, well, it looked like terror to Laura. Her mouth went slack, and though her entire body protested, she stood. Her fingers hooked around the vanity’s corner and she hauled herself up to stand. She, too, looked in the mirror, just to see what Mackinnley could see. Which was nothing. Absolutely nothing.
At first it didn’t register. Laura was so groggy and so achingly tired that she couldn’t understand why Mackinnley should be so horrified. But then it clicked. All she could see was the reflection of the wall opposite the mirror—the mirror, which was round, oval, with an antique, white, flaking, curlicued frame. There was no Mackinnley. And there was no Laura.
But she couldn’t react like she ought to. Although she was filled with the exact same terror that she thought she could read upon Mackinnley’s features, she couldn’t react upon it. A power beyond her control had a grip on her, and she just wanted to sink to the floor. Instead, she dragged herself over to the tub and slipped inside. Like a cat, she craved the smallest, most confined space. She wanted to find a box to hide in, as if she could shut out the world. But there were no boxes, and the tub was the second-best thing.
She crawled in. She wanted to beg Mackinnley to crawl in with her. And though her mouth opened to voice the words and her hand stretched out to lure him in, no words came. Her arm fell limp—along with the rest of her body—and Laura was dead to the world. Asleep, though she would look dead. She would feel dead, to any living person. None of her vital signs would show any signs of life. There were still large black crescents under her eyes, and her lips were slightly blue—she looked horrific, especially given the new garish red blisters all over her face and neck. But there was nothing she could do about it.
She saw nothing but darkness. Complete and black. There weren’t even any dreams. She may as well have been dead.
