Striped Killer

Date: 7/12/2019

I was surrounded in darkness, but I wasn't alone. My friend B was with me, she was wearing a glamorous short dress made of gold sequence with a deep V that stopped at the breast line, long sleeves with shoulder pads and black heels that completed the ensemble. She wasn't herself, for she was acting disgracefully towards me; spouting the most horrible profanities for no justified reason, the stench of alcohol fled her lips. My vision turned red. A growl escaped my throat and my body boiled with rage. In that instant, my soul escaped my body; I looked down to witness the situation. Fear stimulated chaos into my heart; my friend B wasn't quarreling with me but with a tiger. I implored her to stop, but she heard nothing. A second later, the tiger attacked and bit off her trachea. A crimson waterfall stained her dress, the taste of copper enveloped my tongue. I became one with the tiger ounce again, an overwhelming need to maim the flesh and hear the bones snap. I had no control, my paw slashed at her stomach, organs spilling out. She retaliated at what little strength remained; I sank my teeth into her arm and pulled it from its socket. She cried and moaned in agony as I ripped her apart limb from limb, her calls for salvation echoing in the darkness of absolute nothing. The rest became a blur, but the end was silent. I felt content and at peace, my soul retreaded from the tiger's body as it lay beside the massacre of what was left of my friend, no longer surrounded in darkness, but red. End of dream, awoke in bewilderment.