Strangers Kill One Village

in OCD2 years ago


I woke up with a pale face. My breath is hunting. Racing heartbeat. Grains of sweat flooded the entire skin. The dream just now was really scary. I'm thankful for only a dream. And I'm more grateful to be able to wake up quickly. My toes are still intact. There is no incision in the neck. There is no blood red on the clothes. And my tongue is still in my mouth. That was really a dream. Fortunately.

It took more than half an hour to be able to fall asleep again. During the effort to fall asleep, I imagined again the horrific event that stopped in my dreamland at midnight.

In that dream, our housing complex was attacked by a group of rough-faced people. Someone I never recognized. They arrived in ten cars, each with four people - as I recall. Everyone is holding a weapon. Someone brought a shotgun. Someone brought a machete. There are sickles, pistols, arrows, swords. Some also carry wooden blocks, kitchen knives, scissors, anything that can be dangerous.

They come at night before twelve. There is one person who seems to act as the chairman. All the herds carry out their orders. He did not carry any weapons, but his biggest and most muscular body. On the chairman's orders, the foreigners entered the homes of residents. They broke the door violently. Break the window. Making a noise in the house.

I witnessed the whole incident from behind the window curtain of my house. There is nothing I can do. Even I can't move my legs. An enormous fear froze me on this floor.

The strangers dragged residents outside the house. Cut their neck. Break the skull. Cut the fingers and toes. Chop the stomach until its contents are spread down on the grass. Nobody can fight. Those who ran away remained stabbed by arrows from behind. Those who try to fight don't work, their weapons are out of balance. People screaming for help. But nothing helped. Everyone is a victim.

The sudden event did not last more than twenty minutes. The chairman shouted, the strangers stopped their evil activities. Step toward the car. Leave corpses lying in the yard.

I could have survived. But fate is not good. At that time they had gotten into the car, preparing to leave our housing. However, the observant chairman's eyes caught me peeking out from behind this window curtain, standing stiff.

"Hey," the chairman said to his colleagues. "Did you leave one on purpose?"

They were confused, then followed the leader's view. Everyone looked at me. Forty people looked at me. And I still can't move one bit.

"Are you still quiet?" The chairman spoke again. "Do you want to leave one eyewitness for this?"

They did not answer. And that question does not need to be answered. That is an order. Suddenly dozens of people ran towards me. They shouted like possessed people while brandishing bloody weapons.

If I could run, I would run as fast as I could anywhere. But fate is indeed not good. Instead of running, just breathing, I'm breathing hard. The next incident may be the thing that I want to forget the most.

The door slammed. Broken windows, scattered. The curtain was torn to shreds. The photos on the wall fall. The chair and table slammed. My body fell down. Beaten repeatedly. Their wooden beams hit my head. I see blood splatter. One of them holds my leg, the other plays the scissors. My screams seemed meaningless. The little fingers have fallen out of place.

The others shot me. It seems like they deliberately did not point the bullets towards me, so that I was scared to death. Next I felt a sharp object tear my stomach. Whether it's a knife, a sword, a dagger, whatever is not important. They took out my guts. Looks like I'll be dead soon. A moment later a sword pointed right at my neck. I will really die.

That's when I woke up. I awoke from the horror of that dream. Gratitude is unmatched to the power.

The next morning I woke up with full energy. Sip a glass of water that is never absent beside my bed. I had forgotten the dream last night. Like never even dreamed of.

However, everything I saw then delivered the memory of that nightmare before me. When I opened the door to my room, what I saw on the floor was broken glass. I stepped on one, slicing in pain. I stepped into the living room. It's all a mess. All scattered. Formless goods.

My living room is red. Blood red. Whose blood? In the corner there I saw someone who looked like me. But his face is worse, formless. His body is not like the body.

His legs are not like feet. And he is dead.

Strong winds entered through the doors and windows that no longer exist. I went outside. What kind of sight is this? People lay in their backyard. I called out. Nobody answered. They are absorbed in sleeping on the land that has changed color.

I approached those who slept one by one. The closer it becomes clearer. They are not people. But it's also not right to be called a corpse, let alone a body They are like the most promising pile of meat that suddenly fell from the sky to our housing. I feel like throwing up. Flies partying above them.

The image of the nightmare was clear again, not only in memory, but also in front of me, now. These people are dead. I was dead in the house there. So who stands now?

In great confusion, I ask. What exactly happened? Who dreamed it last night, or this morning? ***