Big bad Damsel

CHAPTER [19] - Dream boy.

It was him.

The boy who smelled like chocolates and cakes.

In the dream, Damsel was sitting in a field of ready wheat,

the stalks bended lazily in the wind and he marveled at the grains. Each one is distinct and though different from the others, still perfectly formed.

He ran his hand along the edge to feel the combination of rough and smooth, it was unreal, with the sound of birds tweeting, so calm, it was just him standing in a golden farm, yet the seclusion was addictive.

He held his face upward to feel the warm light of the mid summer day. The air smelled just right and the birds fly in an almost cloudless sky.

Where am I?

Damsel thought.

He walked aimlessly through the field of wheat, pushing some out of his way. The crunches that sounded beneath his feet when he stepped among the harvests; the laughs that bubbled in his throat when he jumped forward to mess around and land on a cushion of wheat.

until his foot got stuck,

suddenly a waft of panic jumped into him as he rapidly looked at his stuck foot,

He felt nails digging into his feet; needles poking around in his veins.

but there was nothing.

Though when he looked back up, he didn't see a wheat farm, but he saw a forest,

he saw trees hanging in the sky as the saturated green leaves waved at the wind, the birds were tweeting again and this time, he was barefoot in healthy grass. Damsel smiled at the sight, it was more familiar than before, he recognized this place, it was his favorite childhood hiding spot, the forest in the border, away from the packhouse but also near.

There was a lake that run along the side, and there were flowers blooming at every angle, the waft of fresh rain on grass was all around him; the dozens of flowerbeds among each path he took; he slid down the hill towards the lake, rolling down as bits of grass and petals got stuch among his clothes; it was only when he landed at the bottom of the hill that he felt a little empty.

Infront of him was a pretty dandelion, he kneeled down to pick it; but everything slowed.

The moment the flower's stem snapped from its root,

his dream glitched.

What?

What the fuck?

His conscience came running back to him. The fear sat on Damsel like a pillow over his mouth and nose. Enough air gets by it, allowing his body to keep functioning, but it's crippling all the same.

He spun around to see his forest burning into ashes,

A ghastly orange grin, tearing through the verdant woodland. Unfettered flames, devouring hungrily, licking and lapping at the coppice, twisting and swaying in a dance without rhythm. Blackened bodies, charred bones, unsettled souls, snatched before their time.

Screams engulfed his ears,

By his side, the faces of his relatives were distorted, melting under the flames; their corpses lying under his feet as if they were the previous flowers ordered among the grass.

Once again fear found him. It spoke to him in its cackling voice. It told his legs to go weak, his stomach to lurch and his heart to ache.

The gore, the sick smell that coated his lungs as a rancid tar, felt reminiscent of nightmares he'd felt so trapped within.