I walk through the door, to find the bitch lying in the bathtub; she shrieks and begs for mercy. Like hell she'll get that. I pull a machete from my back pocket, her screams get increasingly louder. Not for long. I stab her, and it's empowering I just can't stop. I stab over fifty times and it is fantastic. She had it coming to her; she knew that I would come back. I am a man of my word. Her lifeless body sinks to the bottom of the now red water. I pulled the paper out of my pocket and crossed out her name. Three to go. They will all go like you.
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I wake up to rain dripping onto my forehead. It's pouring and cold. I hear the roar of thunder in the distance and a bolt of lightning illuminates the horizon. I scramble under a nearby pine tree to try to gain some protection from the wild weather. I begin to remember the dream I had. I killed somebody? Was this even a dream? Maybe this is why I am here. Questions bombarded my mind; I have no idea how to answer or where to start.
I look over to the truck to see the two men asleep. I try think back, as hard as I can, to remember how I got here. I have no recollection, and the puzzling events leading up to where I am today are starting to give me a pounding headache. This is all too confusing, I really am overwhelmed with it all. I feel like breaking down, showing utter weakness. I know I can't. Not yet. My head continues to pound like a boxer giving deadly blows to one against the ropes. This is too much for me. I sit myself against the tree and try my best to get back to sleep.
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Yeah, this is it. 639 Forde Street. I try the handle of the door, it's locked. Fuck it. I kick the door down and I hear someone call out. That's the voice I am familiar with. That's the voice I'm looking for. I turn left into the kitchen, to see a balding man. Bingo. He tries to get out of his seat, stumbles and falls to the ground. He pleads to me, like it’ll do his soul any good. Before I pull out my trusty 9MM he throws a knife at me which slices my right forearm. I hesitate for a short second. Enough to smirk; and then shoot, emptying an entire magazine into his obese corpse. I wipe my blood on his face in a disrespectful manner.. Two down, two to go.
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It's now daylight. The sun is shining somewhat, but the temperature feels the complete opposite. What the hell was last night all about? The dreams I am having are really starting to freak me out.
The wind blows gingerly across my face, carrying with it laughter. The two men are sharing a joke. I get off the grass and walk over to the pick-up. I lean on the side as they eye me up, I sense another beating coming. The man with the ginger goatee pushes me out of the way and grabs a tyre iron from the back of the pick up. Anger has clearly overwhelmed him.
He begins to bellow at me "You want to know how it feels? Huh? You want to feel the torturous pain you left on families after what you did? People like you don't deserve to live."
Before I can say anything, he swings wildly at me. I fend off the first blow and something catches my eye. A scar, about 5 inches long on my right forearm. Identical to the wound I had in my dream. What the hell does this mean? Am I....Am I a....
My eyes are caught on what seems to be a breakthrough with my sceptical dreams. Without focusing on what else is happening, I crumble to the ground. The man with the goatee doesn't let up, I cop a devastating blow to my knee. He's laughing manically, and I'm losing focus. I black out in a heap next to the truck.
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