I have this recurring nightmare where giant pistachios carrying daggers are after me. They’re not fucking around. They want me dead.
They chase me into my house. Mom! Dad! Help! Everyone’s at work. I sprint upstairs and hide in my closet.
They hurl their heavy bodies against my door. Thump. Thump. Thump. I don’t have much time.
I know it’s going to hurt when they stab me, so I try to wake up.
Sometimes I escape back to my harmless reality. My room is dark and quiet. I’ll have a sip of water.
Other times I can’t open my eyes, and the door breaks down. They corner me. I scream in terror. It’s a shitty feeling: anticipating your own disembowelment. The pain of being stabbed is never actually that bad. But the terror. The terror fucks me up.