It Was Me, I Did It, Now Give Me The Knife.

Just a little while longer

          I had a nightmare.

          A man was chasing me and my friend. We ran for our lives.

          That dream came to a sudden end. A new image appeared.

          I read a suspicious, sad letter from my friend. She was pronounced dead 2 hours later.

          A bright lite flashed and I was holding on to a cute boy for dear life, willing him to revive.

                    I shot up in bed. Sweat dripping down my neck and forehead. My back damp. My breathing quick and raspy.

          It was just a nightmare. I told myself, rocking back and forth, back and forth for hours.

          Until the realization hit me.

          Nightmare wasn't the correct word.

          Oh, but of course not. It was something much more terrifying.

                                        Flashbacks.

         Two syllables of pure horror.

          I look down at my arms. Scratches ran up and down them. Most of them old. Most of them straight, like a line of soldiers waiting for orders. Most of them associated with a memory from long ago. Some were fresh ones, caused by myself as I dreamed. I clawed at whatever I could find when i had nightmares. Myself was the best thing around. I touch my eye. It's still swollen. My foster mother looked at it minutes after giving it to me, and told me it should be gone in 3 days. "Don't forget to was the dishes next time." she says, "You'll regret ever being born." I lick my lip. I still feel the metal-like taste of the blood from it. For the third week in a row, my foster brother and foster father decided hey wanted me. I wasn't having it today. I decided to take the busted lip and a couple of bruises.My room was dark and stuffy. My claustrophobia started acting up.

          I climbed out the window of my first floor walk-in-closet-turned-bedroom. I walked for hours. Through peoples yards, stopping every so often to imagine going through their opened window and quietly killing every one of them.

          I imagined taking the newborn child of the neighbor down the block.

          I imagined raising it as my own.

          I imagined loving the baby. I imagined it loving me.

          Until it grew older. Until it, too, turned on me. Until it hated my guts as much as everyone else.

          I walked into the woods. I picked a few flowers, berries and  mushrooms that looked poisonous.

          I put them all in my hand and ate them.

          Sadly, they weren't poisonous.

          Sadly, I'll have to wait until i can join Sam and Alex in hell.

          Just a few more months I told myself. Just a few more questions. Just a few more confessions. Just a few more drops of blood.

                                   Just a few more moments to add to my collection of nightmares.