June 2nd, 2006
114919992950626059
From the far reaches of terror
Falling asleep on the couch (for the second night in a row) left me waking up too early six thanks to some extremely vocal birds and unattended window shades. However, it seems I should have gotten up instead of rolling over.
I had a nightmare about a certain someone, a nightmare so twisted, macabre, and insane in its unimaginable violence, that I was close to vomiting when I finally managed to rip myself awake.
In the nightmare I found myself needing, no, possessed to kill this person. Only the sane, normal me was coherent enough to see the madman erupting from inside of the self, and that caged remnant of me had the horrible pleasure of watching the entire sequence unfold, almost powerless. Almost. The almost is the worst part, because instead of just swiftly and efficiently murdering my victim, I failed at every attempt, leaving said person in a state to sustain life, but with enough maddening aplomb to unthinkably mutilate and deform the once beautiful and smiling face I knew so well.
I hacked at the neck, but couldn’t cut through, I sliced off skin like a kiwi, occasionally catching on fatty flesh. I stabbed and stamped and stuffed rags in a mouth that once I tenderly kissed, and for each step of my inhuman butchering, I retained the lucent, searing pain of knowing full well what I was doing, writhing in useless struggle against myself. This prolonging kept the soul alive for an unimaginable length of time, and in the end when the killer within was certain the soul had been extinguished, I went to sleep, on the sofa, much like I did last night… asleep with fatigue and demons, and things close by left undone.
When I awoke a spectral third person, imagined or real, grinned at me sardonically, with such exquisite sickening pleasure, to show me that in fact my love was still alive, and in the morning daylight I could witness and absorb fully the unspeakable effects of my actions the night before. Now there were no longer pleas of “Stop” or “But I love you.” The shambling mass of bleeding flesh was panicked and trying to escape, and driven to new heights of rage and desperation I fumbled for more sharp objects and redoubled the effort my insurrection, but this time not as one fighting the other, but two… two both driven mad with fear, and rage, and powerlessness.
…
I’m really bad at finding the accurate words to describe the gravity of these actions. They are the kind of things that most humans (hopefully) never think of. It scares me how I could ever conceive of such a thing. Is this a sign of how bad things have gotten, or just a fluke?
[After consulting with Robert at work later that day, he asked how I felt after waking up. Of course I said I was terrified beyond belief, and he said that was normal, (since I didn't feel any conscious inclination to actually follow up on my visions), so that made me a feel a little better.]
[As if to instinctively atone for conjuring up such a horrible thing, somehow I didn't stay awake the second time after the nightmare and fell back asleep for another hour, and proceeded to have a very unspeakable dream of another sort, although this time of a different nature and a much more positive experience for both parties involved.]
