I guess I can handle a little bird of bad thoughts fluttering around my brain cage. But what do I do when that bird evolves into a big, clumsy T. rex that tears through my house, knocking over all the glass and crushing the furniture to pieces.

I dreamt a group of very bad people wanted to kill me. And not just me but other sad, innocent people. The people said they would come for me in the night. But first, I had to come to their office in the day because they decided my leg needed to be cut off, too. I tried, briefly, to appeal to their humanity and beg for mercy, but there’s no point in persuading people who want you to die for no reason and who want to saw off your perfectly healthy limb. In panic, I thought I should make an escape, leave the country and disappear. Besides, it’s not like they held me captive. They just told me to come. But for some reason, instead of making a run for it, I waited outside their office like a patient waiting for her doctor, willingly, waiting for them to call my name.


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