Levin Hussain
Two hundred sixty one. I looked at myself in the mirror. Fingering my neck, feeling my chest and looking at my legs. My face looked anemic, but otherwise, I looked perfectly fine. I recalled the nightmare, remembering the sensations of my body being torn apart, ground into a pulp, burned, cut.
"Hahahaha." I laughed aloud to myself as I looked at the reflection of my naked body. I don't know why that number stood out to me, I must be going crazy. Then I heard the sounds, screams, and cries for help. I wandered into the living room, dad was passed out like normal, beer coating the wooden floor like laminate. "No, no no no," I said aloud as I watched the television. Everything was identical to the nightmare. Those all so familiar sounds unlocking the memory and as I heard their screams, I felt my skin rip. The sound of crushing caused my body to remember the powderisation of my bones and I turned from the tv, barely missing the unconscious form of my father as I vomited. How, what happened? Why do I remember these sensations? "Get out of my head." I slammed my head against the wall, the pain making me forget the sensations. Blood trickled down from a small cut and as I wiped it, the vivid redness blinded my sight. The world was suddenly too large, as I looked up at my mangled body, crushed into a paste of bone and blood. Then as suddenly as the sudden shift in perspective occurred, it was gone and I felt nauseous once again. What is going on? I slammed my head against the wall again, making the pain fade as I blacked out.