One night, I had a nightmare I can never forget. 

It was the middle of the night when I awoke to a wretched stench oozing out of my closet. The most vile smell was undecipherable, like an unknown substance even the top scientists couldn’t identify. All I knew was, something was dead. Ah, I remember: that stupid raccoon that made its way through our roof vents. He must’ve gotten stuck!

I opened my eyes, flinching from the bright yellow light spilling through the crack of my bedroom door. It was late. I looked towards the menacing closet door in apprehension. All of sudden it burst open, thunder striking through the ceiling, and all I saw was my father’s dark silhouette, a body bag in his bloody arms. I stared in horror, and for a second the lightning brightened his face, although I couldn’t make out his dark expression. He swung a pistol from his right hand, and I heard my mother’s screams die out in seconds as he shot the bullet, the next bullet splitting through my older brother, the last penetrating my sister’s skull. My whole world crashed down and I could no longer feel my own throat from the way I was screaming. 

I woke up with tears streaming down my face, and my heart beating out of my chest. I stayed there, lying down on my bed, my throat somehow parched, for almost ten minutes. 

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