The dream begins in darkness.

I’m floating on the tides of sleep, far beneath the ocean. I’ve been here a thousand years, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Centuries pass.

Out of the darkness, a tiny pinprick of light blossoms. One single point of luminosity glimmers defiantly against the void.

The centre of all.

As the sun pulls the orbiting planets, as the flame pulls the circling moth, I dance through the dark, held by that single grain of incandescence.

As I wheel through the ages, the light spreads, sends out tendrils of silver flame – threads of the spell woven across time, the last enchantment of a dying girl.

Is it that time again already?

Something’s different.

And because of that, I will not fail.

I’ll finally be free.

With every new life, I’ve failed to fully awaken. My eyes didn’t see, my ears didn’t hear, I stumbled blindly towards my fate, into his outstretched arms that kill as they cradle.

This time, it will be different.

I’ll end it.

I reach out to the far off light, now distant as a star, and the hue shifts, warmer, silver to gold.

The light is sinking.

My hand wraps around the glowing point, crushing it to ash.

The din of screaming metal cuts through the dark.

*****

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

I don’t want to be here.

I’m on the bus again, frozen in time, halfway to the bottom of the infinite ocean. I was somewhere else before this – somewhere dark and outside of time, but I can’t remember it well.

I’m sitting in the same seat that I was on that day, in the back row.

I’m alone. Row after empty row stretches out before me, and I struggle to remember the faces, the last memory I have of those I lost.

The interior of the bus is perfectly dry and intact, it’s not the hellhole of blood and seawater and broken glass it was on that day.

It’s all so brightly lit, filled with that golden autumnal afternoon light I remember. And yet outside it’s black as night.

I can hear something slithering and scraping against the side of the bus, like slow fingers raking the metal, patiently seeking a way in. Something vast swims past the windows, inches from my widening eyes as I stare through the glass. Something that dwells in the deepest, darkest part of my memories.

I need to remember.

As I think this, an elbow nudges me playfully in the side.

“Looks like I made the right decision staying,” a familiar voice whispers in my ear. “You’re such a mess, babe.”

Mia is suddenly sitting next to me, her long black hair in a simple plait just as I remember it. She smiles, and my heart breaks at the sight of those dimples that she hated so much, and are now gone forever, just like the rest of her.

I weep.

“Why are you crying, silly?” Mia asks.

“Because this can’t be real,” I sob, wiping away the tears. “You’re dead. This isn’t really you. I must be dreaming.”

Mia’s laughter is mirthless, tinged with sadness.

“You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you babe?” She sighs. “Well, you’re right about me being dead. And the fact that you’re dreaming right now. But think about it Ash. Just because it’s a dream, that doesn’t mean that this isn’t really me.”

She looks at me knowingly, and it dawns on me.

This is her. This is her, now.

The bus starts to shake violently around us; a loud groan of bending metal vibrates through the rattling rows.

Something’s crushing the bus from the outside.

Mia looks upwards, biting her lip.

“I can’t do this for long,” she says. “You’ll have to come to me. We can talk more then.”

One by one, the windows along the side of the bus burst, sending water and ricocheting glass through the air. Seawater is pouring in, rising fast.

Mia’s face grows suddenly more gaunt, whiter; her lips are blue, her hair is wet, a line of blood trickles down her forehead. She closes her eyes, and is perfectly still.

The icy water is up to our necks, I reach for her shoulders underwater and shake her.

“No! Mia!” I scream above the cacophony of racing water and screaming metal. “How can I come to you? Where do I find you?”

But she doesn’t move. Her body is cold and rigid, and I cry out in horror as the frozen corpse sinks beneath the water.

There’s a loud cracking sound from the front of the bus. The windscreen breaks, the outside rushes in, and the darkness engulfs me.

As I fight the currents, swimming to the surface of my slumber, up into the light of wakefulness, I hear her voice.

You already know where to find me, Ash. You already know.