In my dreams I walk into my old home. I open the red door and turn into the living room. It's then I notice my brother. He is just an empty carcass. All his love and life gone from him. He hangs from the upstairs banister, swinging above the stairs. In a cruel parody of suicide he hangs upside down, his throat slashed open so wide the back of his head touches in between his shoulder blades. His arms are tied to his sides. No fighting. An old rusted bucket is below him, catching the blood that slowly drips.

Drip

Drip

Drip

As I tear myself away from the horror in front of me I see a trail of blood. It leads to the kitchen refrigerator. There is a pool of blood at the base. So much blood. My hand shakes as I open the door. There, inside, is my mother. She's been cut into pieces to fit the shelves of the fridge. Her head and shoulders are on the top shelf. The next down houses her torso, then her abdomen down to her womanhood. Her legs are stuffed into the door shelves along with her arms. Fingers were broken trying to close the door. Her feet. Where are her feet? In the crisper. A cruel joke.


I wake at this point. I have the same dream every time. And every time there is nothing I can do. I just have the 'privilege' of walking into my sanctuary and seeing the people I love dead.


Where are the dogs?



They've been cut in half. Each matching end sewed together. Asses and Heads.



Blood is all over the walls. Words written in my families life blood



Come Find Us Lynn