Held Hostage

Imagine being trapped in a dark warehouse with naked bodies, hung by chains around their necks and strung like pigs in a butcher shop. It’s a scene straight out of a Stephen King book but you are not reading it. You are living it, whether you want to or not.


Being held hostage by my subconscious is somewhere I would never want to be but in my dreams I have no choice. I have always had a criminal mind but I promise those bodies were not put there by my hand. As the dream unfolded, I learned that my sister was the killer and that my mother didn’t really mind. She just called it a phase and continued to eat her breakfast. Then, I woke up. Analyzing the depth of what I dreamt, I might as well of strung those bodies up myself and maybe I did. I dreamt this crazy scenario when I was eight or ten years old. I’ve revisited this dream various times but three facts never change:

1) When I first see the bodies, I am crouched behind something cold and metallic in a grey toned warehouse and I watch the silhouette of a person walk through room.

2) My shock at my mother’s oddly understanding attitude towards the murders.

3) The last event in the dream was breakfast at my dinner table with my mom and my sister.

These facts don’t exactly convict my sister of the sinister acts but who else could have done it?

There’s a cause and effect for everything. I do not know what could have inspired my graphic dream or the fact that I was barely fazed by it but I know it effects how I see the world. My interests vary from stupid “reality” TV to the cognitive state of murders on death row.

I believe death weighs on everyone but the distribution of the weight is not just. You have the people who make up the foundation – like yours truly. However, the blissfully ignorant sit at the top with subtle feelings of mortality concealed deep inside.


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