#maybe bc I haven’t had a nightmare abt my old fp in a while

[paranormeow7]

we were on the rooftop of an apartment building. It’s raining, but the sky is a deep blue you only get at a certain hour. I can hear the cars below us, but I can’t see them. distant. The rain isn’t hitting you.

I don’t know how you feel about me. Walking towards you feels like something heavy. Like something bad is about to happen. I ask to sit beside you. There’s no answer.

I awkwardly sit down. You won’t look at me. You’re still staring at the cars below. I’ve always wanted to lay my head on your shoulder. That’s all I ever really wanted, I think. This might’ve been the first time I ever tried.

My head sinks into your shoulder. There’s some kind of hideous squelch. The blood pours out and covers my face. It fills my mouth. I recoil and try to wipe it off. It won’t come off, and now my hands are covered, too. I can taste it. Salty. Overpowering. Hateful.

The rain still isn’t hitting us. It’s almost like there’s a box around the rooftop, keeping us dry. There’s nothing to wash off the blood, and it feels like it’s endlessly gushing out, filling my mouth, my throat, my lungs. I turn to look at you.

A deep, red cavity has opened where I laid my head, devouring nearly half of your torso. You’re melting. You’re made of this substance. That’s all you were. You turn to look at me, but your face is wrong. You’re so many people I’ve seen before, all haphazardly morphed together in some kind of phantom abomination.

I can make out your eyes. Deep, piercing silver. I can still taste the thick, syrupy blood.

I wake up.