My nightmare is repeating for the fifth time
. Content Warning.
The first time he killed me, I was five. Engulfed in sleep, I wandered through the city as if through a labyrinth, though I knew every street and every building perfectly. The premonition of inevitable death tightened my throat, and it felt as if my heart was about to stop. That was when HE appeared for the first time. His face—a kaleidoscope of all the features familiar to me—changed every second, flickering as if in a glitched computer game. When our eyes met, I understood—today HE would kill me.
