In my dreams, there's this woman.
She whispers things to me.
Sometimes she screams.
Sometimes she cries.
She looks at me, and her eyes are hollow.
There's nothing inside her.
She's the only thing left in the world that frightens me.
But she's not real.

Some nights, few and far between, a man comes with her.
He yells at her, calls her names, hits her.
She doesn't cry when he hits her, just crumbles to the ground.
As if it doesn't happen.
As if it's all a dream in her head.

One night, when he came, he hit her hard.
She fell to the ground.
She didn't get up.
But, I couldn't do anything about it.
It was too late.

Then he turned to face me.
He raises he hand.
There's something in it.
Something metal, something dangerous.

I forced myself into the corner.
The wall was flat against my back.
It didn't help.

He crept forward.
A grin on his face.
He raised his arm.
And everything went black.

Then there was her.
She comforted me.
She rid the room of the monsters under my bed.
She kept me safe.
Even now.