For the Daily Inkling prompt.
art ©Mauricio García Vega
The day is dark or is it night (?), cloudy, moonless, sunless and no birds sing. Grass clings like ropes or sucking mud and running is walking, though it is coming closer, and the darkness is thickening.
Silence roars, and a black light blinds like the darkness of space, swallowing.
Ahead is a gate, a door, a way out or in, and there is a light behind or above or inside. The pounding is the blood in my head and the feet behind, closing.
Feet pull sluggishly from the tangle, and the door is there, close, and not locked. I reach out, fall through, trembling, push the door closed. But there is no lock. The latch rattles like a mountain of darkness. There is nothing to do but wake.
I feel the (day)light on my back, turn with relief, released from the quagmire of nightmare and look upon its burning, merciless face.