Timothy

My fingers inch closer to the keyboard, itching to obliterate a day's worth of work. It's some of my best writing I've done to date, but at what cost? The words seem to bleed, dripping onto my desk. For a millisecond, I'm sitting in front of a crime scene, looking at dead, begging eyes. Why? Why me?

Suddenly, I aggressively slam down the laptop, snapping me out of the nightmare. The paranoia in me screams about the potential damage, but really, I would rather deal with it in the morning. My stomach grumbles a reminder to eat some dinner, giving me even more reason to run as far away from computer, if only for tonight. The damage will still be there in the morning.

***

After shoveling my dinner, I jump into my sauna of a shower, desperate to sweat...scrub the ickiness seeping into my bones. Even after I'm clean and the water begins to cool, I stay under the spray, ensuring its complete dissipation.

An ear-splitting creak interrupts my self-imposed purging session. Though I live alone and am positive it was only a side-effect of a drafty house, my nerves get the better of me.

"Hello?!" The only response is the groaning of a door. My skin starts to crawl with the feeling of eyes spying from underneath the door. Like every cliched horror film, I take a quick peek around the curtain. The door had popped from its latch and swung open, a common occurrence in this house.

Laughing bitterly, I turn off the water and yank the towel off the rack. I braid up my hair, deciding sleep was more important than a dry pillow.

As I tangle myself in my sheets, I try to reassure myself. I did what I had to do. Unfortunately, the popular side character from my series, Timothy will be another casualty in the long chess-like game of writing, but death can't always be avoided, even in a fantasy world.

***

I don't know when my rumbling thoughts shut up long enough for me to doze off, but I wake up knowing something's wrong. As I try to sit up, my mind snaps completely awake as I realize I'm not only sitting up already, but am bound to a rickety chair from my kitchen.

My head whips around, taking in my surroundings, as I attempt to break myself loose. A bright light abruptly turns on, temporarily blinding me. Once my eyes adjust, I recognize my living room and notice I'm positioned directly in front of my desk where my laptop sits open. I'm close enough to see the print, a chunk of the scene that has twisted my stomach in knots.

A pair of hands grips the back of my chair tightly before I hear breathing over my left shoulder. "Why are you killing me off, Rebecca?"

How...this isn't possible. "Timothy?"

To be continued.....

***

This story is inspired by Belle's Unofficial Challenge: The Conviction, linked below: