A dream I had, what I can remember anyway.
| Dream: The Vulture
Circles of sweat formed in the palms of my hands, not dissimilar to the seemingly endless circular flight of the vulture above my head. Its eyes were black, small like marbles, yet carrying an eternity of ineffable evil behind them. I struggled again against the rust coated chains; the bird above grimly mocking my fight. The chains, which were attached to my four limbs, were each coiled and tangled round poles which were dotted around my body in the hot sand. The chains were tight. As The Vulture got lower, they became tighter, hotter and began to rub against the top of my ankle bone. I wanted to scream, but the four foot monster which was slowly dropping towards my naked chest overpowered my freedom of speech. Its claws outstretched before they landed in my chest. Squirming like an injured deer, I shook my body to try and remove the inch long claws from my bleeding chest; like a stone in water they sunk deeper. A sharp pain arrived in the middle of my chest. Then another. Its head snapped up and down, occasionally jerking or twisting to get a better angle of attack. Illiberally, The Vulture continued to peck, until it arrived at, behind bars of bones and walls of flesh, my heart.
I jolted out of bed, beads of sweat stinging the sides of my eyes and my heart pounding against my clenched pillow. Feeling my chest and shaking my head frantically, I considered what I had just witnessed. Was this a metaphorical premonition, or simply an act of unparalleled depravity from a higher power?