FullMetal Alchemist Falling in love with Envy

Nightmares

The needle grew as I watched it. I looked away at the wall attempting to divert my attention and think of something else. The clinging sound of medical utensils uncontrollably made me swung my eyes back.
"Hold still; this will be over in a minute." The doctor said, smiling.
He had the posture of a soldier. Every action he did was with motive and precise. He smiled coldly and distantly as professionals do, his expressions making me feel nervous and frightened. I can never relax around such an attitude.
He grabbed my arm and forced the needle through my skin. The black substance was thick as it got injected into my bloodstream. My heart rate fastened, my body became warmer, my head was about to explode, my breathing grew heavier.
Every cell in my body screamed for oxygen; I kept fighting the pain and discomfort; I have to take a breath. I looked at the man and saw his wide smile; stretching from ear to ear. I wanted to speak and ask for help, scream from the top of my lungs, order him to stop this. All was to no avail.
I gave up and let the pain out strengthen my will to fight, and for some reason, it stopped hurting like I thought it would. It was peaceful. I was not scared anymore.
I drowned, began to fall further and further into the darkness, allowing it to swallow me whole. My eyesight blurred, everything was fuzzy, and I saw nothing at all. My consciousness was floating through a space filled with a thick static.
Do I call for help?
Is this the end for me?
Do I relax, or do I fight back?
What was the point?
What do I have left?
Who needs me?
Relax.
Let go.

As if suddenly brought from the depths, I took a deep breath that injured my lungs. Looking around, I was relieved to find myself in my room. I was sweating, breathing as if I have been running for miles. I need to splash my face with some cold water; I want to stay awake.
My senses awoke at the sudden cold hit of water on my face. Looking at myself through the mirror, I tried to calm myself down, convincing myself it was just a dream. Once my breathing became steadier, I dried my face and went back to write everything I could remember in my dream journal. Almost the same scenario every single time; why bother writing it again? Regardless, I scribble down everything in my mind and sketch what I could picture from the nightmare.
With difficulty remembering when was the last time I went to bed without sleeping pills, I sat by the window and waited for dawn; the same thoughts and questions running through my brain every time.
Why do I keep having these nightmares?
Who is that person?
When will I be able to sleep without trouble?
The dream journal seemed almost fill. Very soon, I will have to add it to the older ones. Who knows how many journal pages will I have to ink until I can sleep peacefully. Maybe the answer is not waking up at all?