Alice in Fucking Hell-Land.

You don't know how this is happening, but you've agreed to help someone rob a house.
Not a house really, but a rinky dink apartment that this person assures you has tons of jewelry inside that you can sell for big bucks. You can get that damned Prada bag you can't stop thinking about. Prada bag? You have credit card bills. A new home to look for, to furnish, but fuck it.
So you agree, and you look over at this person and you realize you know them, but really, you don't. You see a face, but not so much. You have their name on the tip of your tongue, but yeah, you don't.
Why are you doing this again?
Somehow, really you don't remember how, you make it in to the apartment and you grab some junk. Expensive looking junk, but really you can't tell the difference between real and fake. Especially not now. You hear someone coming into the apartment so you make your way into a bathroom with this person.
Your natural instinct is to turn off the light, but this person says,"That's too obvious. Leave the light on."
Too obvious?
You fight of your natural instinct and go along with the person.
You hear the person that has made their way into the apartment talking. For hours and hours and hours (or maybe it just seems that way) you're in this bathroom with the light on... no conversation, just empty stares at some person that you know but you don't know. Makes no sense. And you want to turn that light off, but it's too late now to turn any light off. Too late to make any moves. Too late to even wonder why you're doing this.
You hear them leave the house so you realize that it's now your time to leave.
And you don't even care about that bag anymore. Or your bills. Or your furniture. You just want out. You want to pretend this never ever happened.
So you leave.
And as you're walking, actually speed walking, to the car, you start to notice this apartment building looks so fucking familiar. You start to drop all the crap you just took and you don't even care.
You just want to get into that car and get home. Forget about this.
So you get in the car, and suddenly there's a third person in your party.
Some guy in the backseat. You definitely don't know him.
Your thief of a friend starts to drive and doesn't say a word. You stop at a red light.
You see a man selling flowers and you know something is wrong. Something is wrong with this man selling flowers and you want to say something but you don't.
Again, you avoid your instinct.
And the man, the one selling the flowers, comes up to the car, pulls some kind of a hammer out of the flowers and blows the hammer straight at the drivers mouth. You hear teeth breaking.
You scream.
The guy in the backseat is looking at you and you're looking at him, when all of a sudden you see the hammer hit the side of his head.
You look at the guy with the flowers. He smiles. Walks away. You're safe.
You wake up.
And you wonder how you're supposed to deal with nightmares when you're alone.
And you realize it doesn't matter.
You'll deal with it. You'll get over it.
And you realize that following your instincts is always the best way to go.
Because even when they're wrong, they're yours.
And the best person to be angry at is always yourself. Because you're easier to forgive than anybody else.