It was called love and it was called friendship—but it was murder. One tiny inch at a time. One indiginity after the other, never ceasing until she was so numb that her spirit was eviscerated and lifelessly listing inside her body.
She wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball and let them finish the job. Plunge the final dagger so it would be over. Done. So she could feel peace again. But that would be too kind, too merciful and keeping just one frayed thread between them kept the torture coming.
“Why don’t you just kill them?” a voice asked.
She didn’t see the owner of the voice but answered nonetheless. “It’s against the law.” Something rose in her heart akin to hope but she pushed it down, knowing she could never do such a thing.
“But they’re killing you!” the voice hissed.
She nodded and felt a pain in her chest. Not a physical pain, something much worse, more sinister—the pain of slowly going insane. “I know,” she said, “but what can I do?”
With a sudden jolt she was immersed in images of mayhem and murder. Violence. Blood. Screams. Shrieks. It quickened her heart but oddly didn’t frighten her. Rather she was entranced by the images, seduced by them. And she lay down and let the savage images embrace her.
Willingly she submerged into the dark world of revenge and her spirit came back to life. Cruel smiles tugged at the corners of her mouth and she murdered each and every one of them in her mind. With weapons. With fists. With words. Until…a hush came over her world and she slept.
“Mary Anne?” The voice niggled at the edges of her consciousness. “Mary Anne, wake up.”
Mary Anne’s eyes opened to the sunlit room and focused on her mother who stood over her. “Hi Mom,” she sat up slowly, still focusing on the room which was strange but comforting. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s visiting day, dear. I always come on visiting day,” her mother said.
“Ahh,” Mary Anne remembered and smiled. “It wasn’t a dream after all,” she giggled.