Last night, I had a dream that I had to rescue a little girl from her psychotic mother who believed the three-year-old was possessed by demons. I hate my brain, because it decided I was not going to get there in time to save her.
By the time I had reached the house, her mother had already murdered her. It was terrible; she went into great detail about how she killed her daughter, and then expected me to be thankful. She believed that in doing everything she did, she had vanquished the demon and allowed her daughter to live happily in heaven.
Worst part about all this? MY BRAIN THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA FOR A DREAM. What. The. Fuck.
I’m inserting a break here, in case you don’t want to read the nasty bits.