[picture of shredded pillow]
Where am I?
I can't open my mouth anymore.
Last night. I'm on the couch. Almost asleep.
The air reeks.
A monster stretches to the ceiling, rows of yearning teeth and an abyss of a mouth.
I have to move. Seconds pass and my fingers twitch. A minute passes, then my arm pulls back.
The monster is closer.
My shoulders push me up, then my back. I have to move. I have to get out of here.
The monster's mouth digs into my skin, a thousand pins into my shoulder, ripping away whatever they touch.
Everything is dark. Everything is gone.
The air reeks of salt. I can't move. I don't move. I feel cold and slimy.
My pillow is a pile of shreds. The cushions of my couch are torn apart. The place I sleep.
My left arm and shoulder are ribbons. Most of my chest on the left side is full of smaller wounds. My back is fine.
Sam walks in with a headache and a dark tissue held to his nose. He pulls the tissue away to say something. A red stain covers his mouth as he speaks.
Something attacked us.