I had finally convinced my mom to let me ride the city bus to dance class. She thought it was dangerous, murderers on the commute to downtown, carrying knives in their suitcases. Silly ideas, really. I had my dance bag with me, cellphone tucked into pocket. Rape whistle around my neck. I was surprised she didn't give me a shield and a knight to come along too. The people on this bus were pretty much businessmen, women with small children, and a man with a snaggletooth.
When the bus reached my stop, I gathered my bag and stepped outside the bus. Even when I took mass transit, there was still a block or two to my studio. I walked down the streets, past corporate buildings and small art shops.
There was pressure on my back, pushing me into the alleyway. I yelped as I went smashing to the hard pavement. I immediately flexed for my rape whistle, but a strong hand forced my arms on the ground. The man with the snaggletooth had me pinned against the ground. I cried, and begged for mercy. I felt a huge weight come crashing down on my head, then black.


I opened my eyes to plush, green grass. The smell of lilies and salty waves. I slowly lifted my body up. I was indeed, sitting in a garden with flowers and sweet aroma. The garden was next to a little farmhouse, two stories. With fresh baby blue paint coated on the sides, and a white door with a carved wooden doorknob. A porch with a table, a pitcher of glittering lemonade.

I was there, in the garden. But suddenly my eyes saw something out of the corner of my eyes.

Me, dead. Being dragged by the man with the snaggletooth, into a basement. Him pulling a knife and stabbing it into my flesh repeatedly, his face of pure bliss. My bloody clothes tearing, shreds to the floor. I can him as his body penetrates-

My vision popped back into the garden. I stood up. White cotton dress coming to my knees. Blonde hair in waves down to my waist. I see in the distance the ocean. Fog surrounding it, laps of water leaping out onto the rocks. The roof of the house is lined with colorful paper lanterns. I open the door, to the fifties-style kitchen. Little open stove with an apron on the kitchen table, which is decorated with a plaid cloth. I go upstairs to the bedroom, which has a cushion bed, and a window looking out to the sea.

I sprawl on the bed, comforted by the sounds of the ocean. As soon as I close my eyes, though, I see a different scene.

The man is done with me, my body being completely defecated. He shoves me into a body bag. He drives, my body in the back. Him tossing my body into the ocean, laughing maniacally.

I scream, and sit straight up. I rub my eyes, and see I'm back in the bed. It's dark now, the moon up high in the sky. I leave the house, and step onto the dirt path leading to the shore.
I step out to the ocean, squishing the soft dirt in-between my toes. Water laps up to my ankles.

I want to forget everything, to just live in this house by the sea.

But every time I turn around, in the corner of my eye I see me, pleading for help.

Screaming for revenge.