The Big Show: The Unconscious Mind
Sanity
In her sleep, Murphy’s fingers twitch slightly before clenching into fists. Though she’s sleeping, the images in her mind create a reality her body feels the same as if she’s awake. The gun is still startlingly cold against her neck, the wall traps her back and Miller’s hand on her chest is firm. The pulse in her neck jumps and her whole body draws tight. She remembers, she remembers perfectly as if it’s the day it happened. He’s going to move that gun. He’s going to pull that trigger and she’s going to fade away. Moments after the air is filled with the smell of burning gunpowder and blood, it’ll go away and she’ll be left in blackness.
A soft whimper escapes and she flinches because she’s left in the void, screaming until her throat is raw. She can’t see, can’t hear, can’t touch. She’s suspended, trapped, unable to fight back against what her unconscious mind remembers perfectly. She tries though. Even in sleep she tries to get away, tossing and turning restlessly as she fights against her own mind. The first sob slips from between her slightly parted lips as she’s wracked by pain, sudden and unexpected. She doesn’t know where it comes from, but it comes. It’s a sharp press in the center of her chest that appears then vanishes, leaving her gasping and wound tighter than before. It’s going to come again. She remembers, even though she longs to forget, she remembers that it will come again and she can’t fight back.
The pain comes, twice, three times and Murphy curls up tighter around herself, trying to keep what’s next from coming. She’s unable to stop it though, unable to wake until her mind as worked through all of its memories. It doesn’t make sense to her, deep down it’s so wrong. Harry is holding her in his hand, crushing the life out of her as he drags her from the blackness. He would never, ever hurt her, except here in her nightmares. He holds her tight, looking down at her with no pity, no mercy. She begs, pleads, screams, but he can’t hear her or if he can he doesn’t care. He’s crushing the life out of her as he closes his fist around her.
She wakes screaming breathlessly. Sitting up in bed she drags air into her lungs then coughs as it scrapes against her throat. Her chest is sore with phantom pain and her hands shake as she throws the blankets off and flees her bed. She can’t escape the nightmares, but she can escape the place where she has them. She stands in the hallway in her PJ’s, the darkness too much for her to take. She slams on the lights, then closes her eyes as pain lances through her head. She keeps them closed only a second, she needs the light, needs to get away from the black.
No one sees her like this, scared and trembling from something that’s the product of her own mind. She almost wishes someone was there. She longs for her mother, who would comfort her when she was younger. She longs for her father, who has just started to become someone she can lean on. She longs for Harry, who can give her answer. Above them all, she longs for peace and a little sanity. She wants it to stop, to just stop and leave her alone. Wide awake, Murphy’s fingers twitch before closing into fists as if that would let her fight back because she desperately needs to fight back.
In her sleep, Murphy’s fingers twitch slightly before clenching into fists. Though she’s sleeping, the images in her mind create a reality her body feels the same as if she’s awake. The gun is still startlingly cold against her neck, the wall traps her back and Miller’s hand on her chest is firm. The pulse in her neck jumps and her whole body draws tight. She remembers, she remembers perfectly as if it’s the day it happened. He’s going to move that gun. He’s going to pull that trigger and she’s going to fade away. Moments after the air is filled with the smell of burning gunpowder and blood, it’ll go away and she’ll be left in blackness.
A soft whimper escapes and she flinches because she’s left in the void, screaming until her throat is raw. She can’t see, can’t hear, can’t touch. She’s suspended, trapped, unable to fight back against what her unconscious mind remembers perfectly. She tries though. Even in sleep she tries to get away, tossing and turning restlessly as she fights against her own mind. The first sob slips from between her slightly parted lips as she’s wracked by pain, sudden and unexpected. She doesn’t know where it comes from, but it comes. It’s a sharp press in the center of her chest that appears then vanishes, leaving her gasping and wound tighter than before. It’s going to come again. She remembers, even though she longs to forget, she remembers that it will come again and she can’t fight back.
The pain comes, twice, three times and Murphy curls up tighter around herself, trying to keep what’s next from coming. She’s unable to stop it though, unable to wake until her mind as worked through all of its memories. It doesn’t make sense to her, deep down it’s so wrong. Harry is holding her in his hand, crushing the life out of her as he drags her from the blackness. He would never, ever hurt her, except here in her nightmares. He holds her tight, looking down at her with no pity, no mercy. She begs, pleads, screams, but he can’t hear her or if he can he doesn’t care. He’s crushing the life out of her as he closes his fist around her.
She wakes screaming breathlessly. Sitting up in bed she drags air into her lungs then coughs as it scrapes against her throat. Her chest is sore with phantom pain and her hands shake as she throws the blankets off and flees her bed. She can’t escape the nightmares, but she can escape the place where she has them. She stands in the hallway in her PJ’s, the darkness too much for her to take. She slams on the lights, then closes her eyes as pain lances through her head. She keeps them closed only a second, she needs the light, needs to get away from the black.
No one sees her like this, scared and trembling from something that’s the product of her own mind. She almost wishes someone was there. She longs for her mother, who would comfort her when she was younger. She longs for her father, who has just started to become someone she can lean on. She longs for Harry, who can give her answer. Above them all, she longs for peace and a little sanity. She wants it to stop, to just stop and leave her alone. Wide awake, Murphy’s fingers twitch before closing into fists as if that would let her fight back because she desperately needs to fight back.