(no subject)

I...


...don't like the direction my dreams have been taking me in, lately. Don't like it at all. It makes me very nervous.

I was being shot at last night. Lined up with three dozen others and shot at. By a firing squad. We weren't running. We weren't fighting. I escaped. Escaped at the costs of other's lives. People I knew and loved. My friends. My family. My grandmother. And I ran, and hid, and climbed, and sat still. Lay still, without breathing.

Put up other people as decoys, to be killed in my place. I don't do that. I don't.

I left people I loved behind, leave them dead and dying and bloody and bleeding and pleading with me -


And no matter what I did, there were guns behind me. And I knew I was going to die.


"And then she woke up."




*whispers to herself* I don't nightmare. I don't. I don't.


This wasn't a nightmare. This was something else. Nightmares wake you screaming or sweating or crying. This didn't. I got up and had breakfast with this lurking insidious in the back of my mind.



Sweet dreams.