It's all in your head, it's all in your head, it's all in your head, it's all...

Tiny wrist and ruby lips

I have been plagued with nightmares ever since the draft two years ago. Horrific shows of padded walls and doctors with large needles, and other things. Fights with my wife, struggling with finances until I starve, the last few battles with the Russians. However, none of these compare with the one I had most recently, maybe this is because it is still fresh in my mind.
It began as an argument with my wife. She, sick with worry, pleaded for me to run away, to flee, as to not get caught by the collectors; people who came and dragged unwilling boys and men from their homes when they are drafted. I refused, I needed to stay and work, to support our life together. We argue and argue, the fight getting more intense, each side waiting until the other gives in. Soon it turns to current financial issues of how I cannot support her extravagant wants.
Suddenly the vision fades into red, everything turns red. Flashes of events explode by; me swinging, her falling, the thud as her head hits the counter, her reaching for a knife. Then the closet, the gun lockbox. The Webley Bull dog I had gotten after our house had been broken into barking. Suddenly I'm in the kitchen, pointing it at her. I try to stop myself. Boom!
I bolt upright, ready to fight the Russian soldiers invading my camp. One of my bunk mates gives me a strange look, telling me I was only dreaming. Then he informs me the medic might have something for that. Wearily, I make my way to the doctor's tent. I take a breath and push aside the flap, and then suck in a lung full of air, ready to call out for help, as I see the room before me. It is perfectly clean, and reeks of bleach. In the center of the room is a metal operating chair, complete with straps.
The straps weren't what caught my eye though. Within the straps was a wrist wrapped in fine porcelain skin, connected to the wrist was a small, pale hand, its fingers tipped with red. Ruby red, her ruby red. I followed the hand back up to the wrist, then to the arm, then to pale, bare shoulders. Then came to a stop at her head. Her hair, ringlets of gold, flowed about her bowed head, covering her exposed bodice. Was it her? Could it really be, the women from my dreams? She lifted her head,
What was where her face once was was something no god had ever intended to be. Where her left eye should have been was a gaping hole, blood and bits of shredded flesh were strewn across her face. My breath caught. It was her, my wife, I ran and reached my hand out to her, wanting to help her, as if my touch could heal her, I pressed my palm to her cheek. Her body went rigid. Her mouth opened and a shriek that would skin the devil alive itself left her ruby lips. As she screamed fresh rivets of scarlet flowed from her wound. I did this.
She jerked her head away from hand as if my touch burned her. Joining her screams, her body began to convulse, jerking this way and that. Where was the doctor? I wanted her to stop screaming. I wanted her to stop. I backed away. As I backed away her screams began to die and her convulsing began to calm. The further I got the better it became, I backed away a few more steps, she was on the other side of the room now. Her screams had turned to whimpers and her body had only a slight shiver. What was happening?
Then her shoulders slumped and she bowed her head once more. The room was quite, all except for her shallow breathing and my racing heartbeat. Then the breathing stopped. She stopped. I began to fear the worst. Was she dead? Did I kill her? Then her body began to shake again, the muscle under her skin started crawling. Her shoulders broadened and arms widen. Her beautiful gold ringlets fell from her head and floated to the ground, softly, slowly much like stands of golden lace would. Her long gold was replaced with black stubble. The body before me was no longer her body. She was gone.
Before me sat a man, a stranger. He looked familiar. He moaned and rolled his shoulders. He slowly lifted his head. He looked so familiar. I took a step closer, my heart quickened, no. I took another step then another, with each step my heart quickened my palms began to sweat. I kept walking until I was right in front of the man, NO! Dear god no, I raised my hand to my mouth, in hopes to contain any bile which had risen from my throat. My heart beat pounded in my ears. "Who are you!" I shouted. My voice rang throughout the tent. "Answer me!" I reached out and grabbed the man's shoulders and shook him. The man looked up at me a smiled. "You." He replied.