I wake up to the smell of burnt linen. It barely drifts by my nose as I roll over to see the time, 3:00 AM. As I turn my head to the other side of the bed, my heart drops. John’s not home yet. Where is my good-for-nothing, pathetic husband? Not nursing his weak, cancerous wife, that’s for sure. He has been out at night for the past two weeks, without so much of a “I’m leaving, hon” or “I’ll be back in a while.” He probably doesn’t trust me. That sick bastard, he’s the one who can’t be trusted.

My forehead starts to drip sweat from all my anxious, racing thoughts. Close your eyes now, I think. The faster you fall asleep the more you’ll be rested up to confront that unfaithful son-of-a-b****.
I wake in a different world, where it is empty and lonely. Where is John? Why isn’t he here to take care of me? Thousands of doors spring up around me in a desolate hallway. Panicking, I whip open each door in my search for John. The last door is crumbling away with decomposing rot. I open it up to John caressing another woman. My mouth becomes dry with words and instead expels smoke, making breathing impossible. Though my ability to talk was unavailable, my emotions were clear as my heart burst into burning flames. I bash John to the ground with such bitter fury that my knuckles light on fire. The room starts to slowly melt as my own body parts slide down on to the ground in a pool of flesh. I smell singeing hair and feel heat beyond imagine as I open my eyes back to our bedroom. Towering crimson and scarlet flames have engulfed my bed. My hands are covered in huge, red, bursting blisters while my legs seem to actually be decomposing off my bones.

I sit up with all my power left to cry for help through the windows, when I see the unthinkable. My boiling eyes catch John’s burning stare from outside as he watches the climbing flames cook me alive. He walks to his car and I lay back on my death bed, crumbling into ashes.