he was there holding me, clutching me. grasping for each other, suddenly we were pulled apart, fingers slipping one by one. then they were there; dressed in black with painted masks of red, white and black. their smiles were pink and stretched superficially. then, that grimace turned into a demonic grin which mouthed "watch this." as the witch took a razor and began to slice his throat, I cried; single tears were streaming down my cheeks. "not him, not him", i whispered.

"it's your turn," she said as she stood abruptly, razor to my throat. she began. it started to burn, more and more. blood began to pool. i began to cry silently, but refused soon. i would rather it be me than him; i am a sad girl who deserves the pain, who likes the pain. he is quite the opposite. he stared, shocked. i waited for him to save me. to jump in and fight the wicked witch off, or at the very least, try to do so. but he just stood there, eyes wide open.

i woke up.