"Martyr (μάρτυς)

"It's no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction

Fiction has to make sense."

Mark Twain (1835-1910)

Dreams, haunting dreams. Awake, from my own screams. At nights I'm fighting to evade the flames but never I escape. I feel the flames eat me alive, my skin then boils and catches fire

The walls then tumble in on me..trapped in black smoke..cannot see. My mouth burns shut I cannot breathe, cannot hear and cannot scream. In other nights, spent soaked in sweat I die another horrid death

Just in the second I collapse, dismembered in a violent blast. Half awake but still not dead, they run me over with a tank. Blood and mud and bone fragments.. and wondering what that all meant. I am living, breathing and now dreaming death. Surrounded by horror everywhere I head. Every dream becomes for someone real. It worsens with the sense of guilt I feel. I am trapped forever inside my head. Dreaming my world, am I dreaming dead? I fight like hell but peace I'll never have. What I saw for you is better left unsaid."