FOR AS FAR BACK as I can remember I’ve only ever had the one dream.

That is apart from the one of me fighting in jellied air. But we’ve talked about that one already. It was the other dream we didn’t talk about. Nightmare, really. And it was always the same.

Well, that ain’t quite true, there’s always a bit of difference from time to time, but there’s a definite theme going on.

I’m always bound to some sort of object, that never changes. The differences come in what I’m bound with, and what I’m bound to. I could be strapped to a chair, handcuffed to a radiator, even chained to a mountain top. Regardless, I’m stuck for good, and despite my best efforts, I can never manage to get loose.

What also doesn’t change is that sooner or later, as I’m struggling to break myself free, someone, or some thing, comes along, opens up my belly, and then casually begins to pull my insides out. I usually wake screaming at that point. Then it’s off to the kitchen for a warm glass of milk.

Eventually I’ll fall back asleep, but sometimes, like last night, it starts all over again.

Fortunately I don’t have the dream all that often.

Unfortunately, I was having the dream now.

I was strapped to a hospital bed, my arms and legs bound by thick, leather manacles. Above me are lights that burn and stab at my eyes. They blind me so that I see nothing else. That is until two figures step into the light, standing over me. They’re some sort of doctors. But like none I’ve ever seen before. They’re dressed in surgical scrubs, but over the top of them these fellas wore long, leather aprons, stained with the blood of countless patients... or victims, I suppose. I couldn’t see their faces neither due to the gas masks that covered their heads, which, in a clinical situation, could be found to be somewhat off putting.


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