Haha, suffering- Yes, yes I know I should see a therapist. Anywho, two things. One, whenever I use the Grammarly spell check thing, half the issues are because I mess up spelling 'because.' Two, we forgot, so uh.. Fun fact the average person walks past 36 murders in their lifetime! :D

Trigger warning: Mentions of blood, nightmares, PTSD, death, sorta anxiety attack

Word Count: 575
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"Block the door!" Someone yelled.

All around them- Chaos. In the narrow hall, people were yelling, fighting, falling. Battle cries and war screams could be heard for miles as the two small squadrons went against one another. Blood and bodies were splayed in every direction.

The same person yelled it again; "Block the door!"

And there wasn't a trace of hesitance as they did, forcing themselves through the doors and quickly locking it shut, trapping everyone in.

Even as they ran, the echoing of a child's feet slamming into pavement couldn't block out the horrors.

•~•~•

Bdubs jolted up in his bed, breathing hard and fast. He brought his knees to his chest and buried his eyes into them, cradling himself and crying.

No.

Yes.  

No!

Yes.

No..

Yes.

It wasn't real. It never happened, it never happened!

He sobbed even more, trying to push the memories back down. He didn't hate the night, he loved it. It gave him an escape- With some exceptions, like tonight.

Memories from early years, old wounds, and fresh pain flooding through him yet again. Things he'd tried so, so hard to wash away just resurfacing like it was all yesterday.

He violently shook his head, hearing the screams all over again. The clashing sounds, the doors he locked, the thumps of another person falling, the small village's battle cries. They all surged back to him, screaming in his mind and eventually making it out of his skull and into reality.

He shook his head, even more, yelling out a distressed "No!"

And then another, and another after that.

But, it didn't work. The pleas and yelling started to come from every direction he could think of as images flashed before his eyes. Icy hot fear gripped at his heart, squeezing hard. His lungs folded in. He could feel the imprinting touch of evil and fear racking all over his body, tearing away at his flesh.  The room seemed to darken as he was pulled through a rabbit hole of the past.

And then, past became present.

Footsteps echoed through the halls as the individual made twisting turns through a maze- This time one of hallways and rooms instead of alleyways and danger zones.

This time it was a man, not a boy running.

He kept on running and running. He ran out of his room and house, out of the perimeter, and into the woods.

He kept running, going off adrenaline and even needing to get out of there too.

He could feel the cold breath of trauma, horror, and bad experience on the back of his neck, the temptation to give in to its icy grip slowly inclining.

This couldn't be another nightmare. Unless, in a nightmare you can feel all the atrocities of your past waiting to pull you back into its deceitful and paralyzing arms. Unless the agonizing, murderous feeling of your biggest fears and horrors quickly wrapping a hand around your throat. Unless in a nightmare you could feel the pain of being torn inside out and right-side in. Unless you felt those in a nightmare, this wasn't a nightmare.