There are men waiting for me. Waiting to chain my ankles and hang me from the ceiling of the tunnel. They have knives, they run them up and down my legs. It's cold and sharp but the blades don't pierce my skin. It feels like a game.
I am on a table and it seems like surgery, but instead of using tools they use their fingertips. They go in and pull out every bad memory. I can feel the memories leave, I can feel myself growing warmer and happier with each strand of bad that is taken away. I am crying. I am crying in my sleep.
Men again, but more like boys. They're younger. There's a group of them outside on the porch. That screen door is not going to stop them. They pick up bats and force themselves into the house. I run into the woods to hide, but I can see. They drown my mother in a tub, they **** my sister with a bat. They get my cat and rip her apart by her limbs. When the sun comes up, I run inside and see my mother's body. I try to drown myself in the tub, too, but then I wake up too soon.