Her heart was racing. No amount of cigarettes that would drown her lungs could stop her shaking, her hunched over form rocking back and forth on the stairs. Her teeth were chattering, biting and chewing on the cancer stick shoved in her mouth. Green eyes were wide, as wide as headlights on deer as they were smashed. The image made her stomach churn, and for a third time that morning- and we're talking 2 am morning- she spat the cigarette over and puked into the bushes. Her head. She touched a paw to her neck. Her head-

Her head was attached. For a split second, a moment of eye gaping horror, it wasn't. A whimper tore from her mouth, eyes squeezing shut as she rocked herself back and forth. It hurt to think about- phasing in like a static filled tv show. Ripples across the screen. A grey man's hand and arm as it gripped her head. Single eye, wide and hungry. Grey, thin, menacing and tall. She couldn't shove a cigarette in between her lips fast enough, her entire paw on fire as she gripped the end, trying to light it.

Her head went pop as the Grey crushed it in his single hand. Her tiny body had withered. Where was he? Was he coming? It was too late. Sam was suddenly looking at her doecat body from the outside, the shaking, rocking, crying and snotty mess, covered in ashes from her cigarettes and burns on her muzzle from her paw. She couldn't breathe. She spat the cigarette out, coughing and wheezing. Her paws pressed to her ears, tucking them in against her head as she laid her head down, trying to regain her breathing.

That was real. That wasn't a nightmare or a dream, that was really, really raw, real shit that happened. She had died, her head as got fucking popped. Who was "he"? Where was he? Why couldn't he have saved her life?

A low moan rose from her, a whine of her crying echoing in front of her. She didn't want to look up. She swore it was standing in front of her, single eyed and staring hungrily. It's hand- oh god it's fucking hand was long in it's talons, the nails crusty and chipped, the knuckles bony. It's massive hand had clutched her head like it was just a ball of.. ball of what, meat?

She coughed, and gave up, slumping and rocking back and forth still, crying quietly on the steps of her house.

"SPEECH"

nightmares had long since exceeded mikolaj's nights. they would haunt him for many, many years before they eventually settled, of course. even then his last sleepless fit felt like eons ago. the feelings were vague now. he could only remember that they were about the war. the needles. the pack... sometimes faces but they were blurred messes now. he could barely remember his partner before his capture. a tall gentleman. faceless, as mikolaj could never tell his features from the mud that smeared both their faces all the time. his skin always dirty and hands trembled when he held a gun. a picture of his little girl next to the scope.

mikolaj twitched his ear and turned away from whatever direction he was zoning out in. there was a rather disturbing noise coming from the opposite way anyway and he decided to investigate. at first it sounded like a child's whining and groaning. though as he came closer the scent had struck him. it was that girl from when he arrived... how ironic. the smell of cigarettes was even heavier than the last time. it burned his eyes slightly and he quickly blinked through the musk of tar and smoke as he came closer. did she torture something? the sounds echoing was agitating.

he began to round the porch, expecting to see a bloodbath when he saw... nothing. a crying girl hunched over her own front patio and softly crying. mikolaj felt... no empathy for this situation. he would most likely be no help to sam here as a 'friend' or anything, but he did know something that might get her to shut the hell up.

he turned around and headed toward his own abandoned home. there was a tattered curtain above the window, useless since he boarded the windows up now. he returned with it in his jaws and jerked his head up, allowing it to softly lay over sam's body. the shepherd then took a step back, close to the position she believed her ghostly attacker to be.

"SPEECH"