Reverie

There is an interesting phenomenon that occurs everytime I have a vacation from school. Naturally, I sleep more during vacation, but the strange thing is that I dream much more vividly. Another strange thing is that I am the only person I know who regularly has epic dreams - the kind you would see in a movie theater. Maybe it is because my runaway imagination is untameable? Some people look for meaning in their dreams, but frankly, I've given up on any of that. Otherwise, I would spend the entire day waiting to witness a dramatic car chase or murder.

And I feel like writing something morbid today, so pardon the violence.

And yes, I actually did dream this.
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The lines are endless. Sophelia sighs (though she is in no hurry) and waits by the door with her brother. Outside the grocery store, the darkness of the sky smothers the air like smoke. The lights of the parking lot are a sickly gutted yellow. It is a dead night.
A girl stands by the rack beside the cash register, her lips pursed. (Is she amused? Frustrated?) She is tall but waifish, with dull brown hair and dark indigo eyeshadow that drowns her eyes. Her fingers rifle through the junk by the checkout line, and she picks up a single yellow package. (Why does the store sell that kind of feminine hygienic product by the checkout line? And why are those being sold individually?)
Sophelia and her brother follow their parents past the jawlike sliding doors and into the parking lot, with the wobbling shopping cart squealing excruciatingly. The trunk of the minivan opens, a looming mouth fed with plastic-wrapped groceries and cardboard packages.
A distant scream approaches in a crescendo. The waif shrieks as she runs past, chased by a lithe beautiful blonde. The blonde's eyes are glassy and emotionless, like two lifeless diamonds. A sociopathic Chesire smile gleams on her face, not unlike the glint of the knife in her hand.
The waif screams for help, her cheeks streaked with wet indigo drips. A nearby man turns to chase after them, but the blonde only giggles and intensifies her hunt. The knife is hidden under the dark flap of her black winter coat, barely visible to even the sharpest observer. The man gives up his pursuit (possibly from fatigue, or perhaps he does not see the knife and thinks it is only a demented game of tag) and stalks off towards the direction of the grocery store.
The predator and the prey continue the chase around the parking lot. Sophelia climbs into the car and her father shifts the gear to reverse.
"Shouldn't we do something to help her?" Sophelia feels compelled, not because of any attachment towards the waif, but because it seems to be the morally right thing to do.
"How can we fight somebody with a knife? What can we do at this point?" Her parents shrug. "It's only a matter of time before one of them will give up. But which one?"
A blood-curdling scream echoes in the distance.