So we’re all in this room, and we made some weird suicide pact because, one by one, everyone is preparing to die.
One person starts and takes a giant pair of sewing scissors and stabs herself and twists, then hands the scissors over to the next person. Then the next person. Then the next.
It’s finally my turn and I look down at the blood dripping from the shears. People to my left are dying, and the ones to my right are anxiously awaiting their turn.
I can’t do it. I freeze.
Instead, I pass the scissors on to the boy next to me and ask him to stab me in the back. He nods and, without hesitation, embraces me in a deep, strong hug. It’s a familiar hug. For a second, the anxiety melts away, and I close my eyes and exhale just as he plunges the blades into my flesh.
And because you can’t die in dreams, I wake up.