kevintheradioguy
Salt
Cloiser Woods, WA | Early autumn
This all was becoming so unbearable, that even the most stubborn and self-sufficient teen would've seriously been considering seeing a counsellor. The teacher, mister whoever-the-fuck-he-was, was talking something about mathematical probabilities - at least Peter could've made this conclusion by overhearing words "dice" and "chance" - but it was hard to pay attention. He felt as if underwater, near an erupting volcano. As if huge pressure was squeezing his temples and pushing him down, thick salt water oozing into his ears, crawling its slippery fingers inside his skull. Perceived heat around him was making the skin sweat, needing to try and take off as much of warm clothes as possible, but the cold autumn morning's chill also made him shiver. And yet, no person and no thermometer found him too cold or hot. By medical standards, he was absolutely fine, maybe even healthier than he should be with all the time he spends hunched over the books.
It all started innocent enough: a few nights of long dreams about nothing in particular, leaving the young man exhausted. He could've spent up to twelve hours in bed, and wake up as if he had no rest at all. There was a logical explanation, however. After all, Peter spent enormous amount of time and effort to clean his room from all the wax and pig blood once he was done with his new ritualistic hobby. Even the school coach would've been impressed by how long and hard he worked, just so no one would ask any weird questions about the blood stains forming into an odd symbol on the floor - the last thing he needed is to be locked up into an institution with some real weirdos. This brought up a few disturbing dreams after. Nothing specific. These were just your ordinary dreams and nightmares and teenager would see when they closed their eyes for the night, but they had just one thing in common that made them absolutely terrifying. All the way through, whether it was a dream about falling off a cliff, or the one about seeing a new film, hooking up with someone, or setting school on fire, - every time there was a feeling that someone was watching. Closely. One might've said a "nagging" feeling, but it was far from nagging. If anything, it was needling its teeth into his flesh, and tearing at him; it felt as if he was surrounded, tight, by tall, invisible figures, looking at him, and over him, hanging behind his shoulders, looking down with their large, wet, unblinking eyes at all times, whatever he did, however far he ran, however loud he screamed to leave him alone. Once he closed his eyes, this feeling of being watched - paranoid and intrusive - was there, crawling into his most intimate dreams and most terrifying nightmares. And lately... lately he was getting a feeling these things that he dreamt of - ethereal, unseen and ghostly, were getting into the real world.
Whereas for the last week or two, to escape he needed only to wake up to the bright and colourful wold... at least, bright and colourful for many other people, but naturally gloomier for him... now it almost seemed like he was watched even as the dream ended, and life began. It was easy to brush off: he was tired and paranoid, and was looking around to see a person staring... and in so doing made people actually stare at him. "What a weird kid", they thought. "Is he all-right?", they asked themselves. "Maybe he's lost", they whispered, but no one dared to approach and ask. Not like they would've gotten a satisfying answer if they tried.
...this happens sometimes to people. They are getting hurt, or sick, or even old! - and they don't even notice. So what if they are a little fatigued, so what if they are going to sleep a bit earlier? Such things happen. And then, after weeks, months, or even years, one day they realise in how much pain they actually are, and how long they didn't notice it. This was probably the case with Peter now. These symptoms he felt were growing slowly, and until today - until right now, in the middle of some sort of maths problem no one cares about, - became absolutely impossible to ignore. All the sounds, and all the voices dull, as if heard through a thick layer of water, head pulsing, his heartbeat echoing in it like war drums, and invisible hands squeezing his head - not in a painful way, but enough to be noticeable at all times. Eyes blurry, and vision dimmed, as if someone was sucking all the colours out of the world around. His skin cold from the draft around the room and the cool wind of the fall, and yet, a fire burning inside of him, making him sweat, forming small drops of tears in his eyes. Muscles feeling as if they were made out of soft fibre, barely able to hold a pencil right. And the most terrifying and irritating thing - besides the fact that these symptoms were not tied to any physical sickness - was that no one cared. They whether didn't notice how he felt, or chose to ignore it. No one cared. No peers in the class, none of his parents or siblings, not the teacher, not the school guard, not even the fucking cafeteria lady! They chose to see him as being absolutely healthy. Normal. Was that how they perceived him at all times? Was that who they thought he was? A snivelling, trembling, absent-minded kid?
And now... now his vision was growing darker. Maybe this was a result of Peter not having enough sleep, and his brain shutting down on its own. Thank god. Maybe, there would be this nightmare about being watched again, but at least he won't be suffering from being hot and cold, oversensitive and not feeling anything, all at the same time! Like in the vintage films, a dark aura was forming in the corners of his eyes, all grainy, covering his vision with the mix of black smudges and occasional bright spots, like the ones he'd see if he'd press his palms tight to the closed lids. There was a small movement in that darkness, as if a scared animal was lurking in his peripheral vision. The classroom felt quieter and quieter, as if this layer of unseen water was growing thicker, and it brought some relief. One less sensation to go through. His eyes were hot, almost scorchingly so, and lids closing, as if he was going to fall asleep.
But he did not.
Just as the world almost grew silent, and the voice of the middle-aged chubby teacher grew into a dull, indistinguishable and barely perceived nonsense, he was jolted awake from his half-slumbering state. "Hey, Pe-e-ete-e-er...!" - The gentle voice was heard right over his left ear. It wasn't dulled like the rest of the sounds, loud whisper being the first thing for the last few days he managed to hear normally, scratching his eardrums like nails over chalkboard. At the same time there was a clear sensation of a gentle touch on the back of his neck, as if someone ran their fingers lightly over his skin, tips barely touching his body, like a spider crawling. Problem was, of course, he was sitting in the last row. There was no one behind him but the wall, and an old ad from a year before about the school inviting anyone of sufficient skill join the drama class.
It all started innocent enough: a few nights of long dreams about nothing in particular, leaving the young man exhausted. He could've spent up to twelve hours in bed, and wake up as if he had no rest at all. There was a logical explanation, however. After all, Peter spent enormous amount of time and effort to clean his room from all the wax and pig blood once he was done with his new ritualistic hobby. Even the school coach would've been impressed by how long and hard he worked, just so no one would ask any weird questions about the blood stains forming into an odd symbol on the floor - the last thing he needed is to be locked up into an institution with some real weirdos. This brought up a few disturbing dreams after. Nothing specific. These were just your ordinary dreams and nightmares and teenager would see when they closed their eyes for the night, but they had just one thing in common that made them absolutely terrifying. All the way through, whether it was a dream about falling off a cliff, or the one about seeing a new film, hooking up with someone, or setting school on fire, - every time there was a feeling that someone was watching. Closely. One might've said a "nagging" feeling, but it was far from nagging. If anything, it was needling its teeth into his flesh, and tearing at him; it felt as if he was surrounded, tight, by tall, invisible figures, looking at him, and over him, hanging behind his shoulders, looking down with their large, wet, unblinking eyes at all times, whatever he did, however far he ran, however loud he screamed to leave him alone. Once he closed his eyes, this feeling of being watched - paranoid and intrusive - was there, crawling into his most intimate dreams and most terrifying nightmares. And lately... lately he was getting a feeling these things that he dreamt of - ethereal, unseen and ghostly, were getting into the real world.
Whereas for the last week or two, to escape he needed only to wake up to the bright and colourful wold... at least, bright and colourful for many other people, but naturally gloomier for him... now it almost seemed like he was watched even as the dream ended, and life began. It was easy to brush off: he was tired and paranoid, and was looking around to see a person staring... and in so doing made people actually stare at him. "What a weird kid", they thought. "Is he all-right?", they asked themselves. "Maybe he's lost", they whispered, but no one dared to approach and ask. Not like they would've gotten a satisfying answer if they tried.
...this happens sometimes to people. They are getting hurt, or sick, or even old! - and they don't even notice. So what if they are a little fatigued, so what if they are going to sleep a bit earlier? Such things happen. And then, after weeks, months, or even years, one day they realise in how much pain they actually are, and how long they didn't notice it. This was probably the case with Peter now. These symptoms he felt were growing slowly, and until today - until right now, in the middle of some sort of maths problem no one cares about, - became absolutely impossible to ignore. All the sounds, and all the voices dull, as if heard through a thick layer of water, head pulsing, his heartbeat echoing in it like war drums, and invisible hands squeezing his head - not in a painful way, but enough to be noticeable at all times. Eyes blurry, and vision dimmed, as if someone was sucking all the colours out of the world around. His skin cold from the draft around the room and the cool wind of the fall, and yet, a fire burning inside of him, making him sweat, forming small drops of tears in his eyes. Muscles feeling as if they were made out of soft fibre, barely able to hold a pencil right. And the most terrifying and irritating thing - besides the fact that these symptoms were not tied to any physical sickness - was that no one cared. They whether didn't notice how he felt, or chose to ignore it. No one cared. No peers in the class, none of his parents or siblings, not the teacher, not the school guard, not even the fucking cafeteria lady! They chose to see him as being absolutely healthy. Normal. Was that how they perceived him at all times? Was that who they thought he was? A snivelling, trembling, absent-minded kid?
And now... now his vision was growing darker. Maybe this was a result of Peter not having enough sleep, and his brain shutting down on its own. Thank god. Maybe, there would be this nightmare about being watched again, but at least he won't be suffering from being hot and cold, oversensitive and not feeling anything, all at the same time! Like in the vintage films, a dark aura was forming in the corners of his eyes, all grainy, covering his vision with the mix of black smudges and occasional bright spots, like the ones he'd see if he'd press his palms tight to the closed lids. There was a small movement in that darkness, as if a scared animal was lurking in his peripheral vision. The classroom felt quieter and quieter, as if this layer of unseen water was growing thicker, and it brought some relief. One less sensation to go through. His eyes were hot, almost scorchingly so, and lids closing, as if he was going to fall asleep.
But he did not.
Just as the world almost grew silent, and the voice of the middle-aged chubby teacher grew into a dull, indistinguishable and barely perceived nonsense, he was jolted awake from his half-slumbering state. "Hey, Pe-e-ete-e-er...!" - The gentle voice was heard right over his left ear. It wasn't dulled like the rest of the sounds, loud whisper being the first thing for the last few days he managed to hear normally, scratching his eardrums like nails over chalkboard. At the same time there was a clear sensation of a gentle touch on the back of his neck, as if someone ran their fingers lightly over his skin, tips barely touching his body, like a spider crawling. Problem was, of course, he was sitting in the last row. There was no one behind him but the wall, and an old ad from a year before about the school inviting anyone of sufficient skill join the drama class.
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