You hate me

The right arm was mangled again. Mine, that is. Some kind of tendon or muscle or arm gut tethered the forearm to the elbow. Most of the fingers had been ripped away, and the remainder was a bloody, stumpy mess that was barely recognizable as my arm. Still, I wanted to keep it, so I held onto it with the left hand while I tried to run to safety. I heard the whoosh of bricks and wood as they flew past my head. I might have been breathing  in fire, or perhaps it was the heavy plumes of smoke that burned my lungs.

Dark clouds rolled into my periphery. It took a moment for me to realize I was suffering some sort of weird tunnel vision. I could only see a small circle of asphalt under my feet. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other without tripping over gremlins. When I finally did fall, it was you who caught me.

I rolled away from you, cradling the damaged arm against my stomach. It had been you who had broken it in the other dream. Had you returned to wrench it away completely?

You dragged me across the lot, ignoring the rocks and twigs and other detritus that were pressing into my tender skin. I didn't want to see you. I couldn't stand to think of the rage you were feeling. I didn't want to see the anguish in your eyes.

You lifted me up. For a moment, just a small moment, I thought you would embrace me, and I was happy, relieved, even. But that was just a brief moment. The bestial cry that came from somewhere deep inside you (or maybe it was from me. Thinking back, I can't be sure) frightened me back to reality. I couldn't look you in the eyes.

I went blind just before you tossed me over the edge.

Bitch

My fingers were sticky with sweet redness from the strawberry shortcake I'd been putting together. I mixed the cake from scratch and arranged the sliced strawberries into a fan shape. I drizzled the glaze so prettily on the plate and blobbed the sweet whipped cream right on top. I held the plate up and admired my work. My mom was going to love it.

Except...

She can't eat strawberries, you daft bitch! You know she has diverticulitis. The seeds will mess up her intestines. And for that matter, she already told you that sugar irritates the back of her throat!

And also, she's already DEAD! There's nothing you can do to make her feel better now. There's no demand for strawberry shortcake in the AFTERLIFE!

So I shattered it against the wall. The shards of ceramic tinkled against one another as they fell, but the roar of flames soon overpowered the delicate sounds. The house burned so quickly, I wasn't sure I'd be able to escape.

The boiling  strawberry glaze blistered my arms. I struggled forward, searching for an escape route that just wasn't there. Doorknobs were like grenades, so I kicked the doors in with my powerful legs until something grabbed my ankles. It knocked me off my feet and pulled me backward, into the fire.

I was dragged over the ashy foundation. The scrapes of various objects against my skin left me bleeding and sobbing.

Whatever unseen thing that had me whipped my body around until I was propped against the kitchen wall. Odd. The walls seemed to be frozen. The roaring fire gone. Walls of clear, solid, cooling ice had replaced the hot, mad flames. A few pleasant moments of relief passed before the hideous monster, charred beyond recognition began to stuff shards of the broken ceramic plate along with bits of sweet cream and cake into my mouth.

Eat this you stupid whore.

I gagged and protested the assault. Who would do this? And why?

I tried to speak, but the creature never ceased. She went on filling me up, slicing my face and crushing my teeth with no remorse.

Only when I could finally look in to the bright blue eyes of this sick, crusty, ashen face did I realize that she was me.
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