Turnaround

Shannon couldn't sleep. It had been three weeks, four days, 12 hours and... she looked over at the clock... 14 minutes. At first, it had just been night terrors. She would sit bolt upright, screaming her throat raw, sweat making her clothes stick. The doctors said that it would pass, that people often went through an adjustment period before their lives returned to normal. At first, she had believed them, had tried to get what rest she could, but now... now things were worse.

She sat up and put her feet on the floor. There was no sense in trying to fool herself; tonight would be another awake night. As she stood, the room tilted crazily. She got a hold of the bedpost and stood for a few minutes, waiting for it to pass. The dizziness was worse. Slowly, she straightened herself out and walked out of the bedroom, down the hall and to the kitchen.

The light above the sink buzzed angrily when she turned it on, the florescent bulb throwing everything into sharp relief. An absent part of her mind saw her hand shaking as she filled a glass with water. She wondered how long she could really do this, how long she could reall-

The crash of the glass in the sink jolted her awake.

Ohgodohgodohgodohgodhodoghodoghodogohgodohgod...
Her mind raced, trying to find a stable place. Cold tears ran their way through the grime on her cheeks, cutting new trails. A tremor shook her slight frame, and she grabbed onto the sink, trying to calm down.

Time passed, her breathing slowed, and she was able to raise her head up. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window and had to grip the sink harder as another tremor shook through her. She was a ghost of herself. Her hair was matted, pieces of it falling free where she had pulled too hard, trying to keep herself conscious. Her cheeks were sunken in, the bones standing out. She imagined she could see the skull beneath trying to work its way free of the pitiful skin that held it.

Another shudder wracked her, this time caused by the dry laugh that echoed out of her mouth and around the empty kitchen. It rose in volume and pitch, quickly changing into a hacking sort of cry. A few tears squeezed their way out of her eyes, but the reservoir that fed them was dry, and all that remained were her sobs.

Without warning, her arms buckled under the strain. She dropped, head slamming into the edge of the counter. A strangled cry escaped her lips and died in the air as she fell into unconsciousness.

---

This is a dream.
This is a dream.
This is a dream.

The mantra repeated over and over. Shannon kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see what she knew was in front of her. It had been the same every time and she wouldn't, she wouldn't, she wouldn't...

"Mommy! Look at me!" The cry forced her eyes open.

She was standing on a busy corner, traffic doing its awkward dance through the stoplight. The joyous invitation had come from a small boy. He stood on the edge of the curb, barely keeping his balance, delighted at the feeling of nearly falling. "That's nice, honey," came the response from his mother. She was busy trying to find something in her purse, was oblivious to her boy.

Shannon was paralyzed. She knew what was coming next; she had seen it every night, but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The boy would lean just a little too far backward.

The heavy truck would clip one of his arms, spinning him into the next lane.

Then SCREEETHUNK!

Then the screams.

And Shannon would be behind the wheel of her car, looking out at the small body that she had helped mangle. Her mind wouldn't be able to comprehend the blood on the hood of her car, or the limp form in the street. What would fix in her mind would be just off to the left of the car; the small sneaker lying there, a bit of skin and bone hanging out where it had been attached to the boy's leg.

She knew all of this was going to happen because it happened whenever she closed her eyes and she saw it every night and oh god she had killed the little boy and it was he fault her fault and no one could stop it and she would never sleep again and-

"NO!"

The shout tore out of her lungs as she stood there on the verge of living it again. She lurched forward and shoved herself into the boy, knocking him back onto the sidewalk. She watched him fall, a fiery pain ripping through her right arm as the impact of the heavy truck shattered the bone. She spun crazily out into the street and for one moment, time stopped as she saw herself in the oncoming car.

A beatific smile crept on to her face.

She closed her eyes.

SCREEETHUNK!

And everything was dark.