Every dream is a horror story

Enter yesterday. A woman walks into the dark alley. Who is she? I’m not sure, but I’m there to protect her. I drive behind, with headlights on, blinking at the scene. Crowded cars in an abandoned parking lot. A car in the middle, white, with the roof opening being alive. With shapes, human. Two guys pull out a third guy by his hair through the hole in the roof. Cut his head off. I turn into the lot, following the woman. Stacks of cut off heads line the brick wall, the dead end of the parking lot. They’re bloody, with tongues lolling out, eyes looking at me, asking why they’re dead. All men. Not a single woman. The guys in the lot don’t touch the woman I am following. I follow her into a narrow alley, hop out of the car to warn her. Don’t go further! I don’t want you to! She smirks. Her hair is dark. She disappears into the darkness, another woman comes out into the light. This one is blond, fierce, Camilla is her name, she says to me. I remember the words belong written on the brick wall. Mille. Short for Camilla. She hates all men, as do I  - I realize. I follow her bobbing hair in the street lights, into the abandoned house, where we have been before, I’m sure of it. She doesn’t feel the fear that I do, opens the door, jumps into the whole in the floor, I follow. Two sets of hands grab us, strip our clothes off, yell – nice catch, how about we use them in the meantime, unto their bras turn into muck. On the word “muck” I wake up. The cut off heads linger in my mind for duration of the day, bloody, black, sticky.

Enter the day before yesterday. I climb a rope. The rope hung between two buildings. I try not to look down. It is high, very high, I know it. All I can see is the roof, I need to reach the roof. As I’m lifting my foot (how do I balance on this thing?), a hand grabs my other foot from under the roof, from the open window. A man scales his teeth at me. Gotcha! I wake up.

Enter the whole week before that. No dreams at all.

And so it goes. Either I don’t dream, or I dream complete horror scenarios or incomplete short movies, whichever way you prefer to see it. Never a happy ending, but never a violent ending that I have to witness. I always manage to escape how I’m being eaten, torn to pieces, shot, raped, or imprisoned.

Will I ever dream of flowers? Birds? Waterfalls? And if I do, do I step into the blue water only to find floating body pieces in it? A reminder that I can never be happy, never dream of beautiful places?