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Henri Fuseli
The Nightmare exhibited 1782
Oil on canvas, 1210 x 1473 x 89 mm
Lent by the Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase with funds from Mr and Mrs Bert L. Smokler and Mrs Lawrence A. Fleischman
The Nightmare exhibited 1782
Oil on canvas, 1210 x 1473 x 89 mm
Lent by the Detroit Institute of Arts, Founders Society Purchase with funds from Mr and Mrs Bert L. Smokler and Mrs Lawrence A. Fleischman
The Nightmare
scenario by Misha Sidapra, age 17
My bleeding heart is connected, but hers is still now. Invisible strings hold me to her, leading me to her, to what I know I will find, to my nightmare. Through endless corridors, these same corridors we filled with secret laughter, fused heartstrings lead me. Those happy days, centuries ago, but only days by calendars. I’d felt it, every moment, every thrust, tearing her apart. And I’d heard her scream, through the miles. The familiar door before me lets a shaft of light escape into the black, but I know I’ll find only darkness within. Creak. I see her body first, lifeless, still. The colour of life already drained from her cold cheeks, her beautiful head, curls like an angel, fallen near the floor. Pale arms, draped without care. Dressed in white, pain no longer corrupting her beauty. And then my eyes met the demon, crouched upon her exquisite, broken form. Malicious. Anger rose to fill the abyss within me. His horned carcass, not worthy of the living, sat on her, tainting her again as I knew he had once before. Hatred flooded my veins; abhorrence for this repulsive creature mixed with a carnal desire to rip it to pieces. Then he noticed me. His shameless little eyes locked onto mine, and I felt exactly what she had felt. Exactly what fate I had been too late to save her from. A victorious smirk crossed his face as my essence was sucked from me. Falling to my knees, my very blood became poison, burning me in a million places, coursing through the very core of me. Without moving, he watched as the agony peaked and fell, left me hoping for the end, for my end, before it began to build again, crashing with new force, wave after wave, until hope of any end ended. Invisible leeches covered my skin, drawing me from myself, and maggots burrowed into my soul, leaving jagged holes. Tearing me apart, leaving wounds so deep that healing would never come. All the while he watched, strengthened by my weakness, enjoying my pain. Until no more remained within me. Finally no sound left my body, and none ever would again. There was nothing left in me, but the fading image of her face. And silence.
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