He was alone again, in that black corridor. Staring looking around hoping it wasn’t like the last. Terrible dreams happened, they happened all the time. He was no different right? But he was… He could feel the monsters that roamed the city. The Youma, he could feel them, he knew the Senshi existed, he lost a year of his life. How many had lost a year of their life?

How many didn’t care? How many stood there acting like nothing happened? Acting like they never cared about what caused them to lose that year. He was standing there like a little lost puppy, arms wrapped around his body the best he could manage. Shivering, it was cold here. It was always cold here.

The Corridor shifted, not again, not again…. It compacted, it was a small box, a coffin, a pine wood box, but it had windows. Nothing could be seen but blackness outside of them. But there was a shadow in the other. A shadow of death, someone dying, choking to death. He tried to break free of his own box. What the hell happened? Why did he see this over and over?

Suddenly he busted out of the box. And fell… almost like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, never hitting the bottom. He couldn’t help but to scream. But suddenly he woke up…. Looking around, he was awake right? Blinking a few times. But he wasn’t…. it was another dream, a dream within a dream. These were so frustrating. Everything, it was always the same… a dream within a dream. Like looking into a mirror facing another mirror. It went on forever.

He wondered around the darkened corridor again. Shivering he felt something following him. It was feared, whatever it was. Another shadow? Always the same figure, always the same faceless people. He threw open doors trying to find a way out. All around him was death, dismembered heads, someone shooting someone else, dancing…. Dancing… yes there was dancing in one room. That was safe right? Suddenly the shots sounded again… His blood ran cold the shot sounded yet again… did the one have a gun?

He looked on in Horror as two more figures were seen, he always looked on in horror. And with another shot he woke up again. Standing in an unfamiliar room, looking around observing, someone was laying on the bed talking. Again nothing but shadows. What the hell…. The room suddenly turned to a burning hell with two figures in the bed, not the same male figure though…

He walked out the open door. Out the open door back into that pitch black corridor, he could see the figure again, chasing him. She… yes she… she was always following him. He was panicking. Suddenly the room opened up and more figures came at him. One aimed at his ribs. It was like they broke again, the pain, seering and burning. It was enough to make him scream… but he didn’t wake from his torture. He turned to run, seeing someone being eaten by another... With that figure that was chasing him standing there laughing... Always laughing.

The hair of the figure blew in the wind, he was near tears. Even in his sleep he was crying, tossing and turning. He wanted to wake up… he needed to wake up. He knew what was coming next…. It always made him feel sick… but he couldn’t… He couldn’t will himself awake.

He was back in the corridor in the dream, collapsed on the floor clutching his ribs. He was shivering, he wanted it to stop, he was mad, he knew he was mad. He was bonkers, completely insane, no one had the help he needed though. Another figure approached. It was comforting. It always was… Until… suddenly he felt his tongue ripped out again… and the laughter it rang clear as a bell, his own tortured laugh.

“UGH…” rolling out of bed Azzo collapsed on the floor pupils wide with fear, his face an ugly shade of green. Breathing hard and sweat rolling off his face and upper body. His whole body was shivering in fear, one arm clutching the ribs that had been broken.

He stayed there for a long time on the floor in the dark, trying to calm down. No one knew what it was like to be him. Goose bumps covered his skin. When he finally felt he could get up without getting sick he rolled over and walked down stairs with bare feet across the cold hard wood floors, his pajama pants were a little too long so they’d occasionally drag. The light blue fleece fabric with puppy dogs running across it was brightly lit in the moonlight, like his pale skin that still shown with sweat from the nightmare. He got a glass of water and stood there looking out the kitchen window for ages. “I shouldn’t sleep...” He said softly.

This had been by far the most he’d seen. He leaned on the fridge wishing he hadn’t seen it, he didn’t want to see it, not like that. “What did happen...?” He said softly arm still clutched instinctively to his ribs. The dream always made them ache and burn when it happened, even after they were healed. However, the most common dreams was where his tongue got ripped out and someone was chasing him, not to mention the first one, the pine wood box... it seemed to always be the start.

“I have to be insane...” He murmured as he walked to the couch turned on the TV with the volume barely audible so as not to wake grams and pulled his knees up to his chest, looking like the little scared puppy he was, still shivering, breath still heavy. Watching whatever Spanish soap opera was on, it’d keep him awake, reading subtitles always kept him awake.

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