0022.MP4 - "Dreamscape"

[Izzy Anders]

---

[These are recordings from my sessions with Isabella Anders. She came to me out of nowhere earlier this year. She said that it was her New Year's Resolution to try to get over some of her issues. She told me that she had been having dreams as of late. These dreams have been documented in our sessions, because I feel as if they may have something to do with her current mindset.  They're truly terrifying to me. She's highly functioning, but what drives her mind to think of such horrid things? - Dr. Penelope Musgrave, Data Entry #3]

[01/16/2016]

I saw a woman that day. As I ran away, cradling documents in a small box, I heard things. I heard things that any person, should hear. I heard the screams of torment. Men and women just crying out in twisted pain. Through the screams, I could hear laughter. Slashing, burning, the sounds of skin being melted off, bones were shattering into pieces by tiny explosions, and many more. It was all drowned out by the sound of footsteps. As I turned around to investigate, the sounds grew louder in volume. I could feel beads of sweat running down my forehead. That was soon replaced by blood. A large gash was now on my forehead, right above my eyebrow. I panicked. I scrambled onto the ground and found myself near a window. The clicking noise that approached scared me. I looked up.

Moonlight revealed to me the predator. She spoke to me in a calm, serene voice. It taunted me. It scared me. Her eyes were silver, but you see the bloodlust crawling through them. Ebony colored hair neatly combed down. Surprisingly, she was dressed in a suit. A black pinstripe suit if I remember correctly. I must have invaded on a formal day of sorts. The scent of a fruit masked the smell of blood, oil, and decaying flesh. As I got a fine glimpse of the woman in front of me, she raised my head up with a sword.

“What a precious cut,” She cooed, pressing the sword against my new wound. I felt acid spreading the wound open. I screamed in pain. I threw my leg out in nervous tension. That was the only thing that saved me. It struck true to her knee. She knelt over, grasping her knee. It wasn’t out of pain; it was to access the damage. I climbed up to my feet and jumped. The fall wasn’t too bad. It was much better than what happened. I was able to run away. That day, however, it still haunts me.

It was a simple matter.

I met Death that day.

Death in black heels.

=

“I’m not going to fight for the sakes of Tony Carmine; there’s no way in hell I’m going to do that. In fact, I should be protesting the booker for daring to do this to me. I got dragged into two fiascos at once without wanting to be involved with any of it.”
“The dramatics between Scott and Page is one thing already. I rather not be assaulted, because Scott is completely blind with rage now. She threw stairs at a woman that she didn’t even know. Yeah, I rather not be anywhere close to the nuclear explosion that is those two.”

“In similar fashion, I rather not get close to the soap opera comedy that Zero, Tony, and Cannon have all been a part of. The roundabout that those three have entertained for the past month or two has been mind-numbing. Meanwhile, I stand as a neutral party in all of this. I stand as the only person with enough common sense to not throw hissy fits or stairs. With that being said, I would like to skip away from the match and act like it’s nothing happening.”

“That’s an impossibility. I’d never hear the end of it. Zero’s constant belittling has grown irksome as of late. I don’t bother with her unless she says some out of line mess. But if I lose the match, I know damn well that she’d laud it over me like she does everything else.”

“What a pathetic man you are, Zero. Note how I said 'are', not 'become'. Let’s cut back to our one on one match. You were on cloud nine, huh? You had proven all your critics wrong and you were ready to be so self-righteous about it. You gave me a speech on how I changed. Then instead of continuing to be some paragon like you claimed, you became worse than me. Not because you got a new mean streak or anything, you’ve always had that.”

“No, it’s that you have truly become a moody child. I know people may call you a child all the time because of how you act. You won’t acknowledge it because you’re too scared to look in the mirror anymore."

"You're on a pedestal of both your ego and your accomplishments. You made it there, but that doesn't give you the right to talk crap. Nothing gives you the right to talk trash. Since you like to do it so much, I'm going to do what your mother should have done if she was a proper parent."

"I'm going to beat you."

"Not just figuratively as in win the match. No, I'm literally going to rip you from the heavens that you think you created yourself and smack you down to the ground. I'm going to smack you down there so you can think about the shit you say. I'm going smack the taste out of your mouth."

"I'm going to do it with the back of my hand too. I'm going to keep the pimp hand strong. Better than Tony could do. After I do that, every time you see me raise up my hand, you're going to flinch. It's gonna make you cower. That's what would have happen if your gold-digging momma and your egocentric father would have beat you when you talked back."

"I fucking hate white boys."

“Yeah, I said it. I don’t mean ‘white’ as in Caucasian, but have you ever looked on TV and saw the portrayal of a typical white man? Zero, you encompass that completely. You’re vain and always begging for attention you hardly need. You're so wrapped up in yourself that you have forgotten what makes logical sense anymore. You're trying too hard to get under people's skin. For what? To prove you're someone? Whatever."

“You’re so irreverent. You have to cry and make pot shots every other minute in order to keep yourself from hearing all the voice in your head. I thought winning the World Championship, a championship that I have never had a chance to win, would soften you up a bit. Maybe it’d shut you up like a pacifier. But no, it has made you louder.”

“Someone should wrap a damn noose around your neck and let me kick the soapbox you stand on every day. Because you’re depressing. I don’t know if it’s insincerity or whatever?”

“Anyways, the match here isn’t going to be about anything but you and Jimmy’s issues with other people. I might get the victory amidst all the stupidity or not. I just know that one thing is certain.”

“I’m tired of this bullshit.”

=

[02/16/2016]

I ran as fast as I can. The clicking of heels completely drowned out the stomping of military styled boots. I ran. The huffs of my fiancée, Emery, were growing faster. I felt her energy leaving her. I knew that she would only be a hindrance. “We got to split off. We’ll be fine.” I tried to reassure her. It worked. I gave her a wink. I knew that she would have to be the martyr for my escape. I veered off, out of Emery’s sight. Emery screamed out in shock and anger. It hit her that I just betrayed her. Well, I gave her a headstart. Too bad that she was too out of it to dodge a bullet. It struck her dead in the spinal area. I managed to climb my way upward, out of sight. I felt my cheekbones move from my smirk appearing. A simple execution and then I could leave. Then I heard the clicking. I thought it was something else. Maybe something in the building settling. I was dead wrong.

“What do we have here?” her voice was acid. My body reacted before I could think straight. Sweat seemingly flooded out. My breaths were silent but still increasing in speed. My eyesight became blurry. I had to bit my lip to prevent a yelp from escaping my lips.

Her hair was shorter than before, her attire was set a grunge genre rather than the previous formal dress, but she still wore those damn heels. There were several piercings on her face and makeup seemed to be painted on her rather than applied. She carried a smoking pistol. My eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. She hovered over Emery’s shuddering body. Her face passive of any emotion but her voice rejected that thought from my head. She was going to take pleasure in this. I studied her. She’s not here, she was never here, and she’s the pure definition of a sociopath. The woman gave her victim a soft glance. She frantically picked up Emery.

The woman’s fingers toyed with Emery’s worn, blood-covered, and tear drenched face. Her bright eyes locking with her cold, steel eyes and then I saw it. On her stone-like face, a demented grin ripped front, breaking the mask. She took the gun forward and pressed it on her nose. “Do you want a quick death, my dear?” she whispered. Emery didn’t react. I would believe everyone in the room knew that the question was purely rhetorical. I could faintly hear something. Clawing of wood, screaming, blood splattering, and an assortment of gruesome noise but what came next petrified me. A laugh but it was not only projected in my mind but I could hear it in front of me. I hear a smack, no more like a crunch, and I looked down nervously.

The woman began to bash Emery’s face in with the front of the gun. She had no specific aim as she laid down brutal strikes. I could hear Emery’s screams but I listened harder. The sounds of her skull splitting were much more audible. Blood ran down many wounds on Emery’s head. Her face became more and more disfigured as the woman cackled. Before long, I swear the gun was able to enter into Emery’s brain matter. That when she stopped and kicked the body back. Blood poured out, demolished brain matter spilled onto the wooden ground, an eyeball sipped out. The grunts looked on with nonchalant expressions. I covered my mouth in distinct fear. That didn’t prepare me for the gunshot that I heard. A trail of smoke was visible from my peripheral vision. I actually saw the bullet flying past my head. Sophia’s grin grew and she looked upward. “Misfire. I’m sorry if I startled any of you.” I knew then that she was speaking to me.

She missed on purpose. She didn’t want to kill me.

She was speaking to me.