There is a tree in my dreams. Is it a nightmare? There is something terribly sad happening. My chest hurts and my eye itches. Why is there so much screaming? Weeping... wailing... gnashing of teeth... wait, where have my teeth gone? How did you get up that hill? I feel something dripping on my face. I think there's... rain? Or is that sobbing? I hear a chatter; sounds like flies in the marketplace. Or perhaps it's people? The constant babble of a crowd of people? It swells and writhes like beating waves of noise. I can't tell what it is. Something smells acrid, metallic... old tools? A rusty hammer and anvil? No. It's not that.

My mouth is sewn shut. So strange. How am I still speaking? Are these my thoughts to myself? Again, how did you get up that hill? The shade of that tree is nice, but something about it bothers me.

We were playing by the river as children, and I tripped over the roots and began to drown. You held my face down in the water. I was left there to gaze into the deep; cold, blue, filled with clouds.

Wait... something about worms and needles... did my nose grow sensitive enough that I can smell the metal of needles? Can worms even carry needles? They have no hands or fingers!

We were fishing by the river as adults, you tripped over the roots and began to drown. I held your face down in the water. I liked it. The air that came from your mouth popped like the bubble-wrap we played with as children. Or like straws in chocolate milk. It was fun. I asphyxiated and you left me there; cold, blue, in the water.

Why do my eyes hurt? and the itch! I can't reach up to scratch it.

Wait, why haven't you answered me yet? how the hell did you make it up that hill, why am i so far below? How am I still speaking?

IF THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS TO MYSELF THEN HOW ARE YOU STILL HEARING THEM