Do you ever have those dreams where something you're experiencing is so terrifying that you try to scream, but no sound can manage to escape? Imagine something like that were to happen to you outside the realm of fiction.
Something that described that exact feeling was happening to me right now. I was unsure as to where I was, nor did I have any recollection of how I'd gotten there.
The last thing I remembered before waking up here was falling asleep in my bedroom, as I usually did. I'd went to bed earlier, as I had to work the next day before the sun came up. I'd set my alarm and drifted to sleep.
As of right now, I was sitting against the far wall of a white room. From the foam padding that lined the walls, I could only assume this to be some padded room in a mental institution. The one peculiar thing about this room, however, was a clown standing away from me in the far corner. The clown wore a ruffled shirt that had several large patches that had varying colors and patterns. There appeared to be a deep red scattered throughout the shirt. His face was caked in white makeup with a twisted grin upon his face with eyes that only appeared to tell a different story of sadness and terror. The clown giggled in a goofy way, followed by a tear rolling down his cheek. What was his problem?
The clown took a large step forward before another laugh escaped his throat. In reaction, I pressed myself against the wall. He took another step toward me and I slowly made my way to the opposite corner from where he previously stood. I didn't want to move to quickly, as I was unsure what startling this guy would make him do.
He pulled a knife from behind his back and slowly moved it in front of him, showing it off to me. His saddened eyes signaled for me to look at it. I did as he wanted and let out a silent shriek as I saw blood dripping from the blade of the knife.
The clown took another step toward me, causing me to jump. With the hand still before him, he swiftly twirled the knife so that he was holding the blade, the handle pointing toward me. He wanted me to take it.
The first thing that came to mind was something that would happen if this was a horror movie. I imagined I'd take the knife and look over it. I'd look back up and the clown would be gone, instead in his place would be a dead body, laying face down in their own pool of blood.
The clown took another step forward, moving his arm with a gesture that said "take this".
What was I to do in this situation?
I could feel my fight or flight response kicking in. I charged forward and grabbed his hand with the knife in it, forcing it forward, toward the clowns stomach. The clown clutched the knife that was plunged deep within, a pool of blood forming on his shirt around the knife. He fell to his knees as I backed away. He let out a sad laugh that started to fade to a normal person's crying. He looked down at the wound and back up to me. The words "Thank you" escaped his lips before falling to the side, lifeless.
Something that described that exact feeling was happening to me right now. I was unsure as to where I was, nor did I have any recollection of how I'd gotten there.
The last thing I remembered before waking up here was falling asleep in my bedroom, as I usually did. I'd went to bed earlier, as I had to work the next day before the sun came up. I'd set my alarm and drifted to sleep.
As of right now, I was sitting against the far wall of a white room. From the foam padding that lined the walls, I could only assume this to be some padded room in a mental institution. The one peculiar thing about this room, however, was a clown standing away from me in the far corner. The clown wore a ruffled shirt that had several large patches that had varying colors and patterns. There appeared to be a deep red scattered throughout the shirt. His face was caked in white makeup with a twisted grin upon his face with eyes that only appeared to tell a different story of sadness and terror. The clown giggled in a goofy way, followed by a tear rolling down his cheek. What was his problem?
The clown took a large step forward before another laugh escaped his throat. In reaction, I pressed myself against the wall. He took another step toward me and I slowly made my way to the opposite corner from where he previously stood. I didn't want to move to quickly, as I was unsure what startling this guy would make him do.
He pulled a knife from behind his back and slowly moved it in front of him, showing it off to me. His saddened eyes signaled for me to look at it. I did as he wanted and let out a silent shriek as I saw blood dripping from the blade of the knife.
The clown took another step toward me, causing me to jump. With the hand still before him, he swiftly twirled the knife so that he was holding the blade, the handle pointing toward me. He wanted me to take it.
The first thing that came to mind was something that would happen if this was a horror movie. I imagined I'd take the knife and look over it. I'd look back up and the clown would be gone, instead in his place would be a dead body, laying face down in their own pool of blood.
The clown took another step forward, moving his arm with a gesture that said "take this".
What was I to do in this situation?
I could feel my fight or flight response kicking in. I charged forward and grabbed his hand with the knife in it, forcing it forward, toward the clowns stomach. The clown clutched the knife that was plunged deep within, a pool of blood forming on his shirt around the knife. He fell to his knees as I backed away. He let out a sad laugh that started to fade to a normal person's crying. He looked down at the wound and back up to me. The words "Thank you" escaped his lips before falling to the side, lifeless.
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