Clawed fingers scrape their way up my spine, and I see things. Dreams. Maybe. It gets hazy. I want to believe I am asleep. There is little pain when I sleep.
I push my hand through the liquid that is glass. Liquid, but still it cuts and I feel the warmth of the blood upon my hand. With a brush, I fill it with the blood and draw it upon the coarse canvas.
At first I see a face. It isn’t anyone I know. Tears of blood stream from his eyes and his mouth is open in a silent scream. Yet, he smiles. How? I don’t know.
In the depths of the nightmarescape, I feel the weight of something alive. Four small feet that support ten pounds of fur that settle against my throbbing head.
The blood recedes, the man walks off the canvas, my arm is healed.
Tags: Dreams, nightmares
