OF UNKNOWN KIND


            

So many things pure and white, beheld upon this sterile sight. Lavish things of  seamless rings with instruments so finely tuned, all aimed towards my body marooned. One with claws of needles each, shinny needles which could puncture in, like Mother would use when she entered the skin.  Another instrument hung low, with a searing red glow, the heat alone you could feel to bone. On the platform next, pieces lay still, eye  sockets empty from once being filled. There was pain you could tell, for his expression was hell,  just moments before him being killed. His fingers were severed, and neatly beside. Only one of many that was part of his ride. Grey matter still protruding from partly sliced skull, the rest was like pudding in a cold sterile bowl.

Was this a dream, or more of a nightmare, I will never know, for all around me there was a haze, and an ever slight glow. But I do remember the words of "let this one go".