Blinding Light (BLS Book 1)

My eyes open to a familiar pair of yellow eyes.

“Midnight?” I yawn. He meows and licks my face; His scratchy sandpaper tongue rough against my skin. “Ugh, Midnight. You couldn’t have picked a better time to come every day?”

He meows innocently and rubs his head on my face, making me sputter. Scratching his head, I sit up. Stretching, I grab a few peaches that I brought over from the festival just in case Midnight shows up.

“Here, eat these,” I yawn. Falling back into bed, I snuggle in the blankets. He meows again, and I groan. Always the same. I push myself up.

“Another vision?” It’s become our routine that I know better to be surprised. But I’m definitely not mad as hops (excitable). Rolling my eyes, I don’t even consider the fact that I might be dreaming all the time; something about Midnight tells me that I can trust him with my life even though he’s a cat. It’s just a feeling, a strange feeling. I sound mad even in my head, my thoughts, because it’s always so skilamalink (secret and shady).

He doesn’t move at first, then stretches and yawns: revealing all his sharp nails hidden underneath.

Sleepy cat at night? I laugh at the thought. He doesn’t seem tired, but I suddenly do. My eyelids feel heavy, as if I’m drunk, I fall onto my pillow.

I feel like I’m floating.

I don’t want to open my eyes...but I know I have to...

My heavy eyelids slowly lift themselves up. Something blurry flies through the air, so sharp it cuts through my left eye, killing it.

“Dying....”

A cry escapes my lips. It sounds unhuman—familiar. I clutch my face. It’s wet, so wet...bleeding. Moaning quietly, I can see the redness—feel the hot blood dripping from my eye onto my hand. I cry, over and over. Keeping both of my eyes shut, my other senses perk up, and a dreading smell fills my nostrils—metallic and sweet-scented. The coldness of the air and the scent almost wipes away my consciousness. Just the smell of it seemed to drown out my other senses—the stench of blood.

A human?

An animal?

Me...?

I reach around blindly, my hand cut short on something slimy, sticky, and hot.

It’s moving and huge.

Keeping my left eye shut with my hand over it, I open my right eye. I scream and scramble back as far as I could.

Kickerapoo (Dead).

A dead body lays in front of me. No, not dead, it moves, and I let out a shriek, the pain my eye replaced with fear. The boy lays unmoving except his back, rising steadily up and down. From his hair all the way down to his legs—they’re covered with blood. His hands are in shackles and from the permanent bruising on his wrists, I could tell that he struggled. My fear only inclines at the misconfigured body.

“Weak on the outside, strong in mind,” the voice speaks. I clap my hands over my ears, the voice goes away and my own thoughts return.

Scary... So thin as if he’s been gutfoundered (starving hungry).

“Pl..Ea....se” escapes his lips, fractured, cut, bleeding. I can’t look away; I just gape in horror. “M...ila.” My name brings me back to reality.

Not reality, I tell myself. It’s just another nightmare—this has been happening for days.

Somehow, hearing his sweet voice, I’m not afraid of his figure anymore. His voice is hoarse, his wavy, brown hair messy—all bring back memories of someone familiar—but I don’t know who.

“...hel..p. A..bo..ut... t..o...kil...l.”

“Kill...?” I ask in a small voice, unsure of what else to do.

“M..ee...killed...” He shakes uncontrollably, scary...recognizable.

The dream comes rushing back into my brain like air into the lungs after a long time underwater. The white ceilings, the shaking of my body, the black liquid. I shudder and fall onto the floor. Holding my arms around myself, as if I let go, everything will fall apart.

Unaware, I open my left eye, and he screams. A blood-curling, terrifying scream that destroys my eardrums. The screaming stops when I look away. Something cuts into my heel. A hand, fingernails grab my heel and dig in deep. I gasp and wince as I feel the blood ooze out the open door of my skin. I bite back a scream when I hear him talking again. He’s right behind me, close, too close.

Too close.

“Ru...n...” he moans. I look at him, careful not to open my left eye, that’s now no longer in pain. His legs lay limp behind his broken body. He looks up at me, green irises underneath all that dried-up blood—familiar, so familiar. I reach out, cupping my hand around his face. And like magic, his wounds begin to close up and his eyes widen in surprise. Both my eyes open to better examine his wounds and he screams again.

“Don’t look...”

One minute of healing and the next is reopening the wounds. What’s wrong with me? There must be something I could do. I don’t even know this man, but I know that I can help in some way impossible. And I can’t leave him.

“Don’t look...!” the voice screams.

I keep one hand over my left eye, knowing the pain has something to do with this. I cry out as the contact burns my palm, just slightly. It’s like something deadly is infecting my left eye’s vision, burning and destroying everything it sees.

I look at him with one eye, his body smoking as if he’s being burned alive. His bloodied hand remains on my ankle. He looks at me, the green eyes pleading, telling me,

“R...un!” he exhales and lets his hand drop from my ankle.

His body limp once more on the cold, black ground. The ground was sizzling like it’s being grilled. I inhale sharply, feeling all my body tremoring to the word.

It brings up a memory. Not too long ago, but yet so far away.

“Run...” the voice says, gently but harsh at the same time.

I gasp, careful not to look at him, I stand and take off into nothingness. I don’t know where I’m going, or if I’ll ever see the light again. But I run. Run until my feet bleed from the distance. Until my lungs die from the lack of oxygen; until my heart stops beating. Don’t look back, run...

“Midnight?” I yawn. He meows and licks my face; His scratchy sandpaper tongue is rough against my skin. “Ugh, Midnight. You couldn’t have picked a better time to come every day?”

He meows innocently and rubs his head on my face, making me sputter. Scratching his head, I sit up. Stretching, I grab a few peaches that I brought over from the festival just in case Midnight shows up.

“Here, eat these,” I yawn. Falling back into bed, I snuggle in the blankets. He meows again, and I groan. Always the same. I push myself up.

“Another vision?” It’s become our routine that I know better than to be surprised. But I’m definitely not mad as hops (excitable). Rolling my eyes, I don’t even consider the fact that I might be dreaming all the time; something about Midnight tells me that I can trust him with my life even though he’s a cat. It’s just a feeling, a strange feeling. I sound mad even in my head because it’s always so skilamalink (shady).

He doesn’t move at first, then stretches and yawns: revealing all his sharp nails hidden underneath.

Sleepy cat at night? I laugh at the thought. He doesn’t seem tired, but I suddenly do. My eyelids feel heavy, as if I’m drunk, I fall onto my pillow.

I feel like I’m floating.

I don’t want to open my eyes…but I know I have to…

My heavy eyelids slowly lift themselves. Something blurry flies through the air, so sharp it cuts through my left eye, blinding me by one side.

“Dying….”

A cry escapes my lips. It sounds unhuman—familiar. I clutch my face. It’s wet…bleeding.

Moaning quietly, I can see the redness—feel the hot blood dripping from my eye onto my hand. I cry, over and over. Keeping both of my eyes shut, my other senses perk up, and a dreading smell fills my nostrils—metallic and sweet-scented. The coldness of the air and the scent almost wipe away my consciousness. Just the smell of it seemed to drown out my other senses—the stench of blood.

A human?

An animal?

...

Me…?

I reach around blindly, my hand cut short on something slimy, sticky, and hot.

It’s moving and huge.

Keeping my left eye shut with my hand over it, I open my right eye. I scream and scramble back as far as I could.

Kickerapoo (dead).

A dead body lays in front of me. No, not dead, it moves, and I let out a shriek, the pain my eye replaced with fear. The boy lays unmoving except his back, rising steadily up and down. From his hair down to his legs—they’re covered with blood. His hands are in shackles and from the permanent bruising on his wrists, I could tell that he struggled. My fear only inclines at the misconfigured body.

“Weak on the outside, strong in mind,” the voice speaks. I clap my hands over my ears, the voice goes away and my own thoughts return.

Scary… So thin as if he’s been gutfoundered (starving hungry).

“Pl..Ea.…se” escapes his lips, fractured, cut, bleeding. I can’t look away; I just gape in horror. “M…ila.” My name brings me back to reality.

Not reality, I tell myself. It’s just another nightmare—this has been happening for days.

Somehow, hearing his sweet voice, I’m not afraid of his figure anymore. His voice is hoarse, his wavy, brown hair messy—all bring back memories of someone familiar—but I don’t know who.

“…hel..p. A..bo..ut… t..o…kil…l.”

“Kill…?” I ask in a small voice, unsure of what else to do.

“M..ee…killed…” He shakes uncontrollably, scary…recognizable.

The dream comes rushing back into my brain like air into the lungs after a long time underwater. The white ceilings, the shaking of my body, the black liquid. I shudder and fall onto the floor. Holding my arms around myself, as if I let go, everything will fall apart.

Unaware, I open my left eye, and he screams. A blood-curling, terrifying scream that destroys my eardrums. The screaming stops when I look away. Something cuts into my heel, a hand; fingernails grab my heel and dig in deep. I gasp and wince as I feel the blood ooze out the open door of my skin. I bite back a scream when I hear him talking again. He’s right behind me, close, too close.

Too close.

“Ru...n…” he moans. I look at him, careful not to open my left eye, that’s now no longer in pain, but feeding on torment instead.

His legs lay limp behind his broken body. He looks up at me, green irises underneath all that dried-up blood—familiar, so familiar. I reach out, cupping my hand around his face. And like magic, his wounds begin to close up and his eyes widen in surprise. Both my eyes open to better examine his wounds and he screams again, this time, feeding my body with immense amounts of pleasure that not until I force myself to look away does the screaming stop.

“Don’t look…”

One minute of healing and the next is reopening the wounds.

What’s wrong with me?

There must be something I could do. I don’t even know this man, but I know that I can help in some way impossible. And I can’t leave him.

“Don’t look…!” The voice screams.

I keep one hand over my left eye, knowing the pain has something to do with this. I cry out as the contact burns my palm, just slightly. It’s like something deadly is infecting my left eye’s vision, burning and destroying everything it sees, while also deriving one more feeling from that—pleasure.

I look at him with one eye, his body smoking as if he’s being burned alive. His bloodied hand remains on my ankle. He looks at me, the green eyes pleading, telling me,

“R…un!” He exhales and lets his hand drop from my ankle.

His body limp once more on the cold, black ground. The ground was sizzling like it’s being grilled. I inhale sharply, feeling all of my body tremoring to the word.

It brings up a memory. Not too long ago, but yet so far away.

“Run…” the voice says, gently but harsh at the same time.

I gasp, careful not to look at him, I stand and take off into nothingness. I don’t know where I’m going, or if I’ll ever see the light again. But I run. Run until my feet bleed from the distance. Until my lungs die from the lack of oxygen; until my heart stops beating. Don’t look back, run…

Want more chapters quicker? This book is available on amazon! Just click on the SUPPORT ME button on my profile!

Like ❃ Comment ❃ Share

Thanks, with lots of smiles

☆•Yiona•☆