Walls were closing around me, blood dried apon the cracked, concrete surface. I screamed, but nothing came out. My throat hurt, feeling dry and my voice used up. I pushed on the moving walls with every ounce of myself. It was my will to survive to do this. Like an animal, my insticts fired up.
Survive.
Live.
To no avail, and the walls kept moving.
I kept screaming silently, and shoving onto the walls. I punched, and punched, making my bruised knuckles bleed and turn even more purple.
I looked around, tears streaming down my face. My body burned, my efforts waisted. I sat down in the middle of this box which became smaller, and smaller. I had given up. The walls came closer- a few inches away now. My eyes glazed over, knowing death was coming. The walls touched my shoulders and my back. They were cold, freezing, almost burning me as the shoved me into myself.
I felt my collar bones crack under the weight, and collapse inward. Blood ran down my lips, and out of my eyes. There was no pain...There was nothing, I just sat and stared as the walls broke me.
Broke me into a thousand tiny, little pieces.
'Of course, this was just another dream.' I thought, as I woke. I blinked my eyes a few times, staring up at the off white ceiling of my bedroom.
I had this dream often, as did I the thoughts of death. It's a scary concept, you know?
