Nightmares

It was all dark, visions flashing before my eyes. I feel like I'm drowning, again and again.

Deeper and deeper.

Then there were the red eyes. Those eyes which seemed to be made entirely from burning flames.

A horrific trident and a demonic aura.

Danger... Danger... Run... my body seemed to say. I tried to move but couldn't.

Those red eyes turned to me and before I can react, a trident comes flying towards me.

I'm screaming, I'm falling.... wait. Am I dead?

I gasp. "It was a nightmare." I say as calmly as I can. I turn to my bedstand, and stare at my clock.

It was just 4:30am in the morning.

I rubbed my eyes and face in frustration. These same nightmares again. Don't they ever get old?

I sigh in defeat, getting out of bed. Moving around just to get the thought off my mind.

I get out of my room and make my way to the sitting room. I just sit there on the couch and stare blankly at the TV.

Gosh! Wasn't there anything to do in this house?

I sigh in defeat, getting up for the fourteenth time. I needed to take a short walk, but I couldn't. For heaven's sake it was 4:40 in the morning, and I'm one hundred percent sure that people would think I'm crazy or something. I couldn't risk that, not even my integrity.

Instead, I choose to clean the house for a while. I couldn't go back to sleep, at least not in a while.

I begin dusting the desks first, then the tables, then the chairs...

The sound of an object falling off the table gets my attention. I pause and walk towards it, picking it up... I find it's a photo of a boy.

He looked like he was eighteen years when this photo was taken. His smile was warm and he looked happy. His eyes were ice blue, just like mine. They reminded me of skating on a winter morning. And his hair, it was brown and looked like he had just ran his hands through them.

Who was this guy? What was his photo doing on the table in our house? And why haven't I met him yet?

Grandpa doesn't even talk of him. All these questions were running through my mind as I stared at this unknown man's photo.

Then, I felt a soft touch on my shoulder. "I see you've found his photo."

Grandpa.

"who is he?" I ask, voice low and eyes still on the photo.

"he was a good man." Grandpa replies instead. "you haven't answered my question yet." I say, ignoring his statement. He sighs, "he... he is your father. Jonathan." he says.

"my father? But, where is he and why haven't I seen him all these years?" I ask. Trying to maintain a calm tone.

"I don't know Mystic. But what I do know is, he just disappeared." grandpa says, "what happened to him?" I ask, trying my best to ignore the sting in my chest.

"when you're old enough, I'll tell you." he says, and with that he leaves. I stare at his photo.

My father. I still couldn't believe it. My father's picture has been here for fourteen years, and I never saw it till now.

I sigh and turn the picture to the back. I'm about to get back to work, when the numbers behind the picture stops me in my tracks.

The figures were written in three lines at the right bottom corner of the picture.

I stare at the figures closely.

What could these figures mean? Was it some kind of code?

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