Dark Man - Part 1

          I’ve been having the same dream for the past three weeks now. I’m in a bright white room and I feel awfully terrible, dark, and dirty. It felt like this cold wet blanket wrapped around me, keeping me from moving. My hands felt wet and dead cold. As I looked down I saw that they were covered in red, dripping on the white floor. There was a body lying in a pool of red, a painter I knew from college.

           I would then be thrust suddenly into a dark, deep forest at night. I’d be running, my heart felt as though it would be bursting out of my chest. I would always trip at the exact same moment at the exact same time. Then, looking up I would see a dark cloaked figure in front of me. I knew I needed to run from him, but I couldn’t. I would then be surrounded with many like him, with nowhere to run. They close in, and then I wake up.

           I would always wake up in a cold sweat with blood on my sheets. It was from a scar I had on my chest that I don’t remember ever having before I started to have these dreams. Each time the scar would slowly get bigger, and deeper. It would never completely heal. The memories of this dream are stained upon my mind no matter how hard I try to forget them.

Then, one day the meaning of the dreams became all too real.

As usual, I would go to the bathroom to clean up and fix up the new wounds. The T.V. was left on and the news was on. It rambled on in the background and I didn’t pay much attention to it. Then I heard it, the painter's name, Don Jenson. I immediately went to the television to see, it felt so urgent. There he was on a murder scene, dead. I felt chills go down my entire body, it didn’t feel right. Did I do this? What the Hell is going on? What should I do?

           I was desperately confused, staring at the TV. I got a hold of myself when I noticed the time. I was late, so I got ready the rest of the way and tried to focus as much as I could as I walked out the door. My head was pounding, I couldn’t concentrate on anything I was doing. I walked into the art museum where I worked. I passed by one of Don’s painting and I felt a force stop me. I was compelled to look at the piece.

           It was a single eye in front of a background of confusion and chaos. It felt like the eye was looking, piercing deep into my soul. I felt a pain in my scar and it began to bleed through my white shirt. I ran quickly into the bathroom to see if I could dress it quickly. I needed to figure it all out, especially if I was somehow a part of it.

           “Are you alright Jay?”

           I looked around and saw Rudy a co-worker. 

 

           “I’m just fine. I just scratched myself up a bit before I got here,” I said.

           “What happened? You’re bleeding like crazy.”

           “No, I'm... I'm fine,” I replied.

           He walked away and I put my shirt back on. I couldn't understand anything that was happening to me. It just didn't make any sense. I left the bathroom and the police were already there, looking for me. My first impulse was to run, but why? I wouldn’t stand a chance, even if I tried.