Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Endurance

Maria woke up screaming in a cold sweat. Hot, wet tears were running down her cheeks. With a little difficulty, she kicked off her sheets and padded over to her en suite bathroom. She flipped a switch to turn on the lights, leaned over her sink and splashed water on her face. 

'Calm down,' she told herself 'It was only a dream.'

It was no use. Images of her dream flashed in her mind; a screaming girl, gun and blood, so much blood. She hit her head off the edge of the sink, hoping the pain would distract her from them.

She had had the nightmares for as long as she could remember. She used to wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Screaming for pity, for mercy, for it all to stop.

Her parents had sent her to countless psychiatrists to try to find the root of the problem. Every single time the psychiatrists would say "I just don't know". Not in so many words of course, they had a reputation to maintain.

Maria had a theory about the nightmares. They were the pain of the world. Each night would bring a different dream with different people but they always ended in pain.

Eventually her parents gave up. They accepted that their daughter would always have horrifying and scarring dreams. Her grandfather Nico didn't. He was convinced that she was being haunted by an evil spirit seeking revenge on the human world. He brought her to witch-doctors and exorcists and searched the Internet for various herbal cures.

Maria was extremely grateful for all of his efforts. Though she couldn't help but to start to think that there was no cure and that she would always have the nightmares. It frightened her. She hated to see the scenes that played out but she felt as if she had to endure it for the people involved. To take some of the burden off of their shoulders.


Maria looked at the apartment door. "Are you sure this is the right address?" she asked doubtfully. Her grandfather had announced that they were going to visit a fortune-teller over breakfast. She hadn't argued  and let herself be dragged to their current location.

Her grandfather looked at the piece of paper he had grasped in his hand. "Yup. This is it. Go on and knock kiddo."

Maria reached up and pushed the door bell. It gave a shrill ring that hurt her ears.

"In a second!" she heard someone shout from inside.

The door opened to reveal a nineteen year old boy with one blue eye and one almost copper eye. He was dark haired, tall and lanky.

Maria looked at him critically, he didn't look like a fortune teller "Are you Ethan Mac Morough?" she questioned.

The boy grinned "That's me. This must mean you are Maria. Come in, come in." He opened door wider and beckoned them in.

Maria stepped into Ethan's very minimalistic apartment. A different array of items littered the floor and there was a textbook open on his coffee table. 

'He must have been studying,' she thought.

He appeared beside her with a pocket watch. "Please sit. I'll start telling your future as soon as you tell me your birth date."

Maria did as she was told. She thought it rather odd that he was using a pocket watch to tell her future. Surely he would read her palm?

"I'm so sorry," she heard Ethan say "but your search for a cure is futile. You will never find a way to rid yourself of the dreams. The world needed somewhere to store the bad memories and you just happened to be the perfect container."

Maria stared at him in shock. Was that all? Was he just going to tell her straight with no sugar coating whatsoever?

"Surely that cannot be!" Nico exclaimed desperately "There has to be some way we can put this right!"

Ethan smiled sadly and looked at him with sorrow in his eyes "It cannot be put right. There is no wrong to right. It was and ever shall be exactly as it is. The only thing you can do now is do as everyone does: endure."

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