I hear screaming, distant first, but it becomes closer and more desperate by the second. I begin to wonder why the person isn't being silenced...A few more seconds pass and I go to try silence them myself, when I realize it’s me screaming. I begin to try regaining control of myself, the screams are starting to sound like someone in ear-deep in puberty, voice cracking repeatedly and then finally it slowly begins dieing out.

  When I regain control of myself I take a quick checking my surroundings, I can see the big poster of Edward Scissorhands and my books -wich used to be stacked neatly in perfect order now scattered across the floor- I guess I'm home...

  I lick my lips, hoping to get some kind of moisture on to them, my throats so dry I can taste blood, -at least that’s what I think it is- my lips are cracked too, where the hell have I been?...

   I get up and go to the bathroom. I take a close look at my face, touching delicately at my lips...If wounds didn’t heal, I’d be screwed. My lips are absolutely torn to shreds, small strips of skin hanging loosely while there are deep gashes laced across them...Good thing they're too dry to feel right now...I look over the rest of myself. My hair, deep red, short and spiked in the back, shoulder lenghthed at the sides and bangs that droop in front of my eyes...My overly-pale skin, the odd stray black-head (being a teenager is a bitch, aint’ it?), my eyes green and rimmed with running eye-liner and the evidence of restless nights...

   This is the third time this month I’ve woken up like this, looking like I got into a bad night fight with my mother-my excuse when people ask “What the hell?”- I don’t even remember what I’ve been dreaming about, if I’ve been dreaming at all…