I never really dream anymore. As a matter of fact, I don’t even really sleep anymore. I know that if I were to close my eyes and let myself drift into a peaceful slumber, I would wish that I hadn’t sentenced myself to a night of horror. It is said that “30% of dreams are nightmares,” but for me, anytime that I close my eyes the same nightmare plays over and over on a scarring loop. I occasionally pass out due to sleep deprivation and that’s when they begin, completely out of my control. The nightmare begins with me walking - happily in fact. As I continue walking, I realize I am completely alone in this beautiful town. Despite the vacantness, the town is bright and full of colors. The sky is blue and the shops beam with life as if the employees were working away diligently. The flowers were maintained and the sidewalks were kept tidy, with no trash to be found. Despite the awe of the town, I begin to walk down a dark alleyway, even though I know that it will lead to my demise by now. Although the town was sunny and bright, the alley was dark and gloomy and cold raindrops trickled down. At the end of the alleyway, in a cloud of fog, there is a person dressed in all black, ragged clothing baring a knife. The most terrifying part of staring this person down was the fact that they had no face, yet I could feel them glaring at me. It ends with me lying on the ground with a knife sticking out of my back, surrounded in a pool of my own blood. The dark clothed person towering over my lifeless body. Who is the person you ask? It’s me.