You don't know why.

But it hurts.

You're in your room with your sister at your Grunkle's home and it's late at night.

You look over to your sister. She appears to be asleep. Her small figure lightly outlined by the thick comforter to guard her from the frigid coldness of the attic. The coldness caused by the A.C. being cranked a bit too high, if any lower the heat of the summer would seep through the cracks and boil the small family. But it's not cold enough for you.

You're burning up and your stomach is in seering pain. The thin sheets being too much and almost suffocating, you throw them off to the side over your bed to analyze the problem welling in your gut. In mention of, it feels like there's cement bricks inside of you and it's hard to move. The weight is unbearable and it feels like it would split you in half. Suddenly you are able to sit up with ease. The weight still lingering on and the feeling of something in your hand makes itself noticed.

You think the answer is there and you bring whatever it is up to your face. The moonlight filtering in through the window gleamed upon to set a long and thin kitchen knife into vision.

You believe it to be the answer. Or so your barely conscience mind tells you. So you return your sight to your stomach, where you believe the pain is sourced at. The shirt you wear is bulging out and a dim glow is emanating from the thinly woven threads covering it. The free hand you have shakes as it goes up to bring up the folds.

Your sweaty fingers squeeze the hem of your shirt as they pull it up and you smile. Your stomach is incredibly bloated but it's shining and glistens purely on its own. It reminded you of a fortune teller's crystal ball as she brought forth its mystical properties through spiritual means, to have the universe's cosmos answer any wanderer's thoughts.

That's what was inside of you.

You brought the knife's tip up to the top of your stomach and press down on it. It doesn't pop like a balloon like you thought it would. In fact it wouldn't push through at all. The skin around your abdomen is tight and firm, when you touch it with your hand it's almost as soft as cashmere. But once you try to pierce it with the knife in your hand, it won't go through, like it was made of steel. Yet your brain is on a one-way road.

You raise the knife above your head, gripping it with both hands, and you drive it down center-it goes through like a bullet through a watermelon. Something begins to bubble up around the knife as you keep it in place. It's like carving a pumpkin now that you think about it. But the liquid that seeps through glitters. Not like the glittery sludge that'd you find in a lava lamp, but like stars in the skies. Only a few however.

You can feel the pain escaping your body slowly. So you continue to think this is the answer.

You pull it down, it's difficult due to the vertical angle you have the knife at, you still push on. It's strange as you can't feel the tip of the knife moving and piercing your other organs. All you can feel is the knife that's cutting through your skin. More of the beautiful liquid seeps out and decorates your bed-spread. Once your knife reaches the bottom of your stomach, you pull the weapon out. Soon you find yourself ripping away chunks and the liquid scattering and splattering far from you. The liquid is in streaks and arcs across not only your bed but the floor boards, the walls, the ceiling and more.

You were in an awed daze. It was spectacular, a carousel of diamonds sparkling in the night, as if someone had ripped off the roof of the shack and had the night's carnival of lights be your night-light. Bits of what was once your body casting shadows caused by the radiant light. The pain was gone and all that existed was there to accompany you. There were all the constellations and galaxies you could name; Orion, The Ursus, Cancer, The Northern Stars, The Milky Way, and celestial beings dancing around in orbit.

But something is not right.

You couldn't find it.

The constellation that was you.

The Big Dipper was missing.

You couldn't find it.

You dug through the liquid, throwing it to the side and obscuring it if the star pattern could not be found in it. Caking your hands in what now felt sticky and hot.

"D-dipper?"

You throw your gaze over to who you thought was your once sleeping sister.

"W-what did you do?" Her chocolate-brown eyes were engorged in fear.

The lights were gone. You looked down and saw nothing but blood. You were stricken with fear and screamed so harshly you could feel your vocal cords ripping apart. Entrails and lipids coating hanging ornaments and knickknacks. Your tissues finely diced and finely sliced.

You were no longer in pain. But you carved yourself like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Your organs were like jelly before you, you could see your bones, your blood was draining from your body steadily, squirting from your open wounds.

The sickeningly sweet syrup's scent coating the inside of your sinuses , pouring from them and you cough up and throw up even more of it.

You swear you could even feel slimy morsels of your esophagus being sprayed from your throat.

Every inch of your body was screaming.

And all you could do was die.

You wake up in a cold sweat. Gasping for air you panic, looking around at the scenery, seeing where you were.

You were inside your room. At your Grunkle's house. With your sister asleep in the bed next to you.

You throw off the covers in a frenzy and check your stomach. It was fine. It was not bloated and did not glow. It was soft and it was pudgy like it normally was.

You felt a dry acidic taste well up in the back of your throat and you rush to the bathroom right down the hall.

You gag and feel your stomach churn at the slight remembrance of a single second of the dream, never really having a iron-cast stomach. Puking up what you had for dinner, you feel a gentle hand caress your back.

"Are you okay?" The hand belongs to your sister. Her soft and tired voice is a blessing and it helps you regain your sanity. If you weren't already you'd start crying at this. Mabel is a sign of safety for you, like a stuffed toy for a young child to cling on to at night.

You stopped quickly and swallowed dryly. Flushing the contents down, you go over to the sink and wash your face. Staring into the mirror you see the bags underneath your eyes had become apparent. They've always been there since you've never been a sound sleeper but make a deeper impression in times of insomnia and horrible nightmares such as this.

"You had a nightmare didn't you?"

You look away.

You could never be straight forward with her when it came to your dignity.

"Wanna sleep in my bed tonight?"

You nod.

You could never turn her down in a time like this. So you smile and go back walking side by side.

(AN: Okay, sorry about the whole 'you' format of this story, but I like typing like that and it's really the only way I can type fan-fics based on my dreams.)