Nightmare

October 17, 1996, 6:02 a.m., one week earlier...

A shadowy cloud moves ominously to the end of Mary Park's first floor, where the all boys rooms reside within the hall.

From every angle, neither the light of the early morning nor the lights from the ceiling above bring justification to the concise movements of a shadow fueled by purpose, rather than from a dawn shining from a small window. A dense mist thickens around a doorknob with control, convincingly appearing to grasp the knob with urgency.

The door shakes but the sound goes unheard by the sleeping residents who will awaken from their sleep within an hour to the day in which the seventh anniversary of game three of the 1989 World Series, in which a historic magnitude 6.9 earthquake struck and froze the world of sports.

On the other side of the shaking door, El remains asleep until the noise of metal and wood creates enough disturbance to stir his attention. He discovers his body's unwillingness to react to the desperation of force that creaks his door to a slow open.

The shaking stops briefly as the silence suddenly gives way to the sound of the rusted hinges that enable El's partial consciousness to distinguish a familiar, but unwanted recognition of a pale foot.

Again, the foot slowly drags along the carpet scrapping it barely with its toenails, while the saturation from the dripping seams of a dirty white dress leave behind a cold, wet trail of water.

With morbid grace, this uninvited guest completely reveals itself from behind the rusty door in a surreal hover. Each of its long, pointy toenails continue grazing the bumpy carpet as if without concern, or soul.

The moment feels as if the familiarity of time and tangibility had been replaced by a realm not governed by the laws of earthly physics, but by an inescapable, dark force hidden within the blackness of the universe.

It pauses either to be noticed, or to issue a silent warning to El, whose conscious has partially returned. His faint wake is confirmed only by the noticeable chill of mist that exhales from his breaths, and the familiarity of feeling like an insect trapped in a web revisits his memory from a few days ago.

Each foot of the visitor turn counterclockwise in a complete, awkward circle that implies some disturbing sign of disagreement with the world's normalcy. And, without effort, the feet complete their twist, stopping as each toenail curls toward El's bedside.

El struggles to open his eyes, understanding the uncomfortable situation. He is able to turn his neck to get a better view of the mysterious stranger, but he cannot adjust his vision clearly without his glasses.

El makes more effort to take sight of what he knows is a nightmarish dream; however, the moment materializes into an undeniable truth he refuses to accept.

The feet come in and out of sight with each of El's forced glances. They float closer as does the intensity of his heartbeats that equal the rhythm to the drumbeats of New Order's song, "Bizarre Love Triangle" (The Extended Dance Mix Version).

Turning his head one last time, El discovers the feet have vanished.

He breathes a sigh of relief. The now vacant spot of the carpet convinces him the last few minutes were one of many bad dreams he has experienced since moving in the dormitory, this one being more unforgettable than the others. Yet, his state of paralysis convinces him the event was real, and unfinished.

*(Every time I see you falling, I get down on my knees and pray...)

El forces his head to face the ceiling. Without his glasses, he barely makes out a shocking, blurred silhouette of a girl floating above his uncovered feet where his toes peek from the blanket's edge. Each feature of her face is completely hidden underneath her thick black hair that seem to deny the light of dawn.

(I've waited for that final moment you...

say the words that I can't say)

Like a lightbulb moment of certainty, El is convinced he is in the presence of a frail, vulnerable girl.

Like the girl, El, too, defies the world's normalcy in his own style, a genuine reflection of his unique past but disturbing past.

"A girl!" he tells himself with passionate interest. "Isn't she from my Japanese 101 class?"

There's an awkward pause between them as the beating of his heart slows to a calm wonder fueled by desire, rather than fear.

Again, he acknowledges to himself, "There's a girl in my room! Awesome! A girl...on my bed! My friends aren't going to believe this! I'm not a loser!"

Like an innocent schoolboy, he advises himself, "Don't be a doofus. DON'T BE A DOOFUS!"

His eyes turn far enough to the right, where he checks on the well-being of his copy of "Web of Spider-Man" issue 31. A spider scurries behind the comic tacked perfectly onto the wall as if to seek protection from the cold aura of evil that fills the room.

Oblivious to the potential danger, El smiles towards his silent visitor, never understanding he is now in a place he does not belong.

The gesture connects a bridge of emotion between the awkward pair; one possibly evil, the other alive but naive. In an instant, time stops long enough for El to witness the parting of her hair that opens wide enough to reveal one of two eyes.

As their gaze connects, she feels...

salvation.