Light, Dark, Thud

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three thuds. Three identical noises that were instilled in his head forever. Even when he wasn't sitting in the cold, hard metal chair in his basement, wrists alternating between being hit on the unforgiving wooden edge of the computer desk, he could still hear them. They were his lullaby; the song he sang inside his head before his body shut down into a not so peaceful slumber. Those very same noises were in Frank's dreams, too.

He was standing in a long, white hallway. Doors on either side of him all the way down to the light wood double doors; seemingly endless feet away. He was in a white gown, standing on a white floor, in a hallway with white doors and silver doorknobs. All the doors were open, and once Frank started to walk down the isle, they starting to shut with the same distinct thud.

Always three at a time. Oh no, never two or four, or even five. Three.

Three thud's for the right wrist, three thuds for the left.

He started to run faster, and the doors followed suite. Still three at a time with a short, nerve wracking interval. As he neared the doors at the end, he hoped like hell that they'd be open, that he'd be able to escape the cruel sounds that were mocking him as he ran. A cold drop of sweat trickled down his face.

The last of the doors slammed shut, and Frank stopped. Slowly, cautiously, unwillingly, he put his hand on the icy handle of one of the wooden doors and pulled.

Darkness.

Heavy breathing. Very heavy breathing. Frank didn't know if it was his own or some other sad soul in his dream with him. He didn't care at this point either. His dream self kept praying: “Wake up, wake up. Please, wake up.”

Bad things always happen in threes.

Frank stepped into the dark room and was engulfed in cold air. He started to shiver; the sweat on his face making him even colder. He called 'Hello' to the void. His only response was an echo of himself that told him he was trapped in a room. With that being the only knowledge he had, he put his hands out in front of him, like a blind man without a dog, and started to walk carefully. Ever so carefully as to not step on a trapped door or other device that might be present in a dream- a nightmare like this.

One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, hands out in front of you, eyes open. Even if you can't see.

Zombies; the word floating through Frank's mind. He thought he might look like one of them, arms out, feet spread, hunched over, pupils dilated to their full circumference, straining against the darkness.

Light.

One by one the yellow-green fluorescent lights flicked on, the sound echoing down a long corridor much like the one Frank had just come from. The hallway filled with a soft buzzing sound that made Frank breath a little easier. The path slightly different from the last. Instead of white walls, grey. Instead of white linoleum floors, cement. Everything was grey. Even the metal fixtures that the lights hung from.

In the middle of the hallway there was a chair. A grey, metal chair just like the one in Frank's basement. Next to that was a wooden table, a smaller replica of the computer desk.

Frank approached it, silently, having nothing but the hum of the lights and the beating of his heart to comfort him. He knew he shouldn't, but he did. He sat down. All too easily the urge to wrist bang took over Frank until he started to sweat from resistance. He tried his best to control the horrible habit, thinking maybe if he could antagonize the crime now, then he could also in reality.

But he couldn't. He knew that.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three thuds. Three identical noises that were instilled in his head forever.

Always three at a time. Oh no, never two or four, or even five. Three.

Three thud's for the right wrist, three thuds for the left.

Darkness.