Incubi

For the third time this week I wake out of breath and tasting salt. I have to find the cat. In my dreams he was limp in my arms as I struggled to bandage the wound in his chest, the blood seeping straight through onto my hands. He couldn't even mew, his eyes wide and imploring. I can't save him. I find the real Ziggy sleeping peacefully on a pile of my unopened bank statements in the middle of the dining table, yet I don't feel reassured.

In the dream before that I watched the doctor plunge the long, thin needle into my sister's chest for a biopsy and listened to her scream. In the dream before that I stood at the altar with my dad waiting to marry someone I'd never met, knowing I was doing the wrong thing but powerless to back down.

Please, I just want darkness. I'll forsake Morpheus for Hypnos forever if you'll just leave my loved ones alone.