Felix Mejia, Short Story 1 (Revised)

He was 13 maybe 14 years old, and he spent most of his days inside of his mind. He didn’t talk a lot in school, but he had a great life, at least that’s how it’s portrayed through the eyes of others but himself. He always felt there were things lurking where his eyes could not reach, waiting for him to get distracted and make their appearance. Every night, or, most of them he’d feel watched, judged, and trapped. It was common for him to wake up around 2-3 am in the morning and never go back to sleep unless his senses betrayed him. Luckily for him, he had a really old phone with a flashlight he would turn on when the anxiousness and fear were unbearable. From time to time, he would try to go back to sleep, turn off the flashlight, and forget any figure, “illusion”, monster he has seen that night. He’d cover himself up even in the warmest days in fear of confrontation from the unknown of the night. “I have seen eyes”, he said, “They were red like blood and deep as flames”, “They were blue like a detailed nightfall, green like emeralds, flying in my room”. He’d say these things under covers while he was sweating, but he knew he couldn’t uncover himself, it would be dangerous. Sometimes, he would put music to relax and tell himself everything was just a fabrication of his imagination, but the thoughts of something lurking under his bed never disappeared neither those proving how real those demons were. The bathroom was situated beside his bed and composed of an old door that never fully closed, “They are there”, “Waiting for me” he whispered while trying to go back to sleep. 

At some points, he’d feel frustrated for the night to watch him and impose their dominance towards him that sometimes he would uncover himself and try to sleep as some sort of bravery showdown. “You don’t scare me”, he said while his heart was pumping blood at outrageous levels and minutes later, he would cover himself back with multiple layers of bedsheets. He was traumatized, he knew the night was dangerous and he’d always imagine some better peaceful place inside his head, with sunny days and beautiful waterfalls bathing his face. But these were always corrupted, there was always something coming from the east polluting the waterfalls turning them red, turning the day dark as a night without moon, and the grass would cry and rot as it advanced towards him. He would see it and see nothing at the same time, he never knew how the terrors of the night could invade his deepest thoughts and he could not recognize exactly what was polluting him from within. “It was all a dream?, he said, “No… it wasn’t”, He’d say as he wakes up the next day and goes by his day like nothing happened.