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Tell me, Have you ever had a bad dream so evil, so wrong that you find it hard to go back to sleep ? You lie awake all night, the simple directions of summer lost from your memory. You go about that day upset, lack of sleep taking its tole, your temper is shortened matching your attention span perfectly. You sloth your way through the day, worried of nothing, Your parents words glide through from through one ear, and pass through the other, you complete chores, tasks, even home work assignments, only to realize you’d been working on them when they are already finished. You are a vessel, unmanned, set to auto-pilot. Your ability to hold a conversation is pathetic; you’re not a pleasure to be around.

The one activity you can look forward to is the comfort of your bed’s embrace, the warmth of your blanket’s comfort, and the cool touch only your pillow is properly capable of. Now imagine that day, every day, because the moment your mind drifts into the comfort sanctuary of your dreams, you are cast directly into… the same… exact… dream...

Now do not take me for some common p***y, this dream doesn’t have some crappy monster the big screen may idolize. No, its some thing much worst, some thing the cinemas could only dream to imitate, if they could invoke this brand of fear, this brand of desperation. Theaters would not be a form of entertainment for the average viewer; instead they would entertain the sick and the demonic. In these dreams you are not chained to a wall while you are dismembered by some psychotic freak, that fear goes away once you open your eyes. No, imagine instead some one you lost, some one you loved, some one that you could not imagine life without, Imagine you’ve finally gotten over their death, and now you dream of that person. Not fondly, you dream of their last moments on earth, through the eyes of the f*****t who killed them. Hear the sound of their death, the sound of their friends desperation as they see their mutilated body, the sight of their eyes, their cold, dead eyes. See the incompetence of the paramedics as the arrive too late, the smell of their blood, the smoke from the engines, and the murmurs from the crowd that seem to be professionals at watching, but only a novice at comforting, or aid.



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