Knives

Falling into a dream. I wonder where I'm going this time. A garage, cars parked outside the house, one on the lawn. A party of some kind with a few people is taking its place. Music plays, but it does not sound good at all, just a load of fuzz and non-melodic sounds. Everybody is barely happy, and nothing is really happening, just a lot of standing and miscommunicating. The atmosphere is becoming instantly intense. The heat is building. Darkness is invading. My face is getting very hot, and numb, sizzling with heat. Knives. People are going to start dying very soon, most violent deaths. (I kind of like these movies. This should be sweet.) I can feel it. Can they feel it? Where did they go? I am alone. And I do not like this anymore. This is real. I must escape. But I cannot move. I am bound to the floor of the garage, in the dark. Knives readied to be covered in blood flashing through my mind. I am going to die a most violent death. I can feel them coming. My face is burning hot and tingly. I am in the face of death.

You won't get me this time. Not tonight.