My mirrors are black

Another day. Another dream. Another person dead.

 

Confusion hits me as I wake to blood on my hands evaporating back to the nightmares it came from. Back to where it belongs. Screaming tears from me, parting from where it never wanted to be. Blood curdling screams that would make you weep. Or maybe, just maybe it would only make me.

 

My face is wet, along with my hair and neck and chest. The bed and pillow are soaked and soggy. The blanket is bunched in my fists. The momentary wave of nausea passes quickly, as it always does. My breathing is quick and heavy and full of fits as I tear off the covers and try to orient myself.

 

Just another night. More people dead. More monsters coming to get me. They always get me.

 

It doesn’t matter how much I run, or how hard I run, how clever I am or how much I resist. By the end, by the finish, they have me in their clutches. Laughing the maniacal, moustache twisting, belly jiggling, rolling laugh. It tears through my soul as they kill me.

 

A knife, a gun, an axe, their hands. It always varies except the inevitable end. Except the part of me dying. That part is the part that always hurts. That part is the part that always lets me escape from my nightly torture.

 

Confusion always hits me as I stare at the carpet, head in my hands and hunched over, trying to catch my breath. They chase me to exhaustion. They chase me from my slumber. I always sit there trying to remember which reality is real.

 

One day…one day I fear they will catch me. One day I fear the blood soaked images of my own twisted mind will consume me. And I swear, I swear that every day I wake and feverishly, desperately try to decide which is real, which reality is true, I swear that day will be the day.

 

Every morning I fear will be the last and every night a certainty that it will start the end of me. My demise. Caught and tangled and dying horribly. Yet every morning as I stare at the blood on my hands that was never there, it mercilessly continues. Another cycle, another day. Left to decide which reality is worse, and which is truly the nightmare?

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