⚠️Content Warning ⚠️

This post contains graphic depictions of violence, blood and gore. If you are not into this sort of thing, please do not read it.

It is a real nightmare I had a last night. I don’t believe in dream symbolism and won’t be interpreting it any way, shape, or form. I am posting it here only because I am unable to get it out of my mind, and think that writing it down in words that are even milder in conveying what I felt while I was having it would reduce its effect on me.

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There wasn’t really any traffic to speak of, but a few cars and motorbikes passed by as I waited there patiently. Simmering in my own dilemma of what I would do when I face the person. I say person since I don’t know who they are or their gender. But I know that I have to wait for them and confront them for something they have done, something very wrong. But the idea of facing them, and talking to them about it creates the kind of haze in my mind that simply doesn’t let you think. 

My vision is blurry as I stand there. A few unshed tears stinging at the corners. I have trouble breathing. But I won’t give up. I have to wait. Because there is no other way to get over this. Facing this person, demanding answers, resolving this once and for all is what matters right now. 

At last, after an eternity, they emerge from the building. Strangely enough, there were no doors to that building. Where did they come out from? I wonder. But the thought quickly passes. They passed the narrow street right before me, without noticing that I was standing there. Can they even see me? Apparently they can’t. 

“Hey!” I call out to them. They don’t turn back. “HEY!!” I call out louder, still nothing. Am I being ignored? I look around and see that a few other people have heard me. They are looking at me as if I’m a crazy person shouting in the middle of the road, which, at this moment, I am. So, right now, yes, I am being ignored in the worst way possible. What then, shall I do now? 

I walk right up to them at a quick pace, as they are standing beside a car. Where did that come from? A person steps out of the vehicle. It’s hard to tell if that is a man or a woman. But I sure am getting furious at them with every passing second. 

There’s something about this new person’s eyes that infuriates me. There’s just something which I can’t place. I feel like I would be much happier if that look, that little something that is in their eyes were in mine too. Jealousy? Maybe. The way they look at my target, the way they are talking, it all is too much. I feel like that was supposed to be me. Yes, Jealousy. 

The anger was too much just then. I cover the few metres between us running, but reaching them takes me a few minutes. As if I were standing hundreds of metres away. I yank the recently arrived person by the collar. And just start ravaging them. 

I am aware of people looking at me. I am aware of the other person looking at me in shock. My original plan of confronting them is lost in my anger as I fiercely dig my claws into their newly arrived companion’s skin. Why do I have claws? I don’t know. My next move is to bite down hard on their lips, ripping them from their face, as my claws dig deeper into their chest. 

“You still want this suit of meat instead of me?” I ask them. I don’t wait for an answer, my hands ripping their chest open an inch, spraying the blood all over the road and them. They watch in horror, and it gives me pleasure. 

It’s not enough to kill!  I hear a voice inside my head. I know. I reply, my claws dragging down, cutting through their sternum, their lungs, their liver. More blood. Yes.

“Tell me.” I shout again. This is my way of confrontation. I realise. I pull my claws out of their front and in the next instant, I have their eyes burst out of their sockets like two punctured water sacs. 

I had nearly forgotten the taste of their blood from when I had bitten their lips off of their faces. But now I want more. Maybe the tongue! The voice inside my head speaks. I try prying their mouth open, but the shock has probably clamped their mouth shut. I use my claws again, pulling out their lower jaw in one intense burst. I throw the piece of mouth at them. “You can have that.” I say, as I begin eating the tongue hanging from what is left of their face. 

The heart! That’s the final piece. I saw them crying, the person I was supposed to confront for their wrongdoing. And it gives me the kind of sick joy that only I can derive from this. I smile, baring my blood-stained teeth at them. My claws dig back into the chest, cracking it open further, seeing my prize clearly for the first time. It’s somehow still beating. Not for long. I think, as I snatch it out in one quick jerk. 

For one fleeting moment, I have the desire to eat it. But I have something better in mind. I slam it down on the dirt near my feet and stamp on it with all my might, making it into a puddle of writhing tissue. And like what happens when you step on a water filled bottle, the remaining blood sprays out of the organ, splattering their face. “Yes, that’s what you get.”