I heard a scream.
A scream so chilling, it was like music to my ears. It was the sound of water trickling down a stream. It was the sound of birds chirping early in the morning. It was the sound of the pages of your favorite book flipping as you read on. It was peace. It was affection. It was beauty.
A low rumble of laughter escaped my own throat as I thought about the irony, and that’s when I opened my eyes.
Children playing, running around, giggling, having not a care in the world was what I was met by. They sprinted across a field of lush green grass, which was almost blinding because of its vibrance. The ocean, which was apparently the sky, spread out behind them, threatening to swallow them whole while tricking them by it’s faux sense of security.
Then a new air reached my nose. No, it was a smell. Death. It was the smell of death. It was the smell of rotting flesh. It was the smell of fear.
Yes, it was blood.
And surely, when I looked back, the small balls of joy were covered, rather dripping, in a crimson red substance. Little purple spots littered their tiny bodies, wounds as some would call them, while rather long openings exposing their striking pink flesh, with a soothing white of bone to complement the colour scheme, hung out.
Tears dripped down their soft, flushed cheeks, as they still chuckled, but the turmoil could be seen in their lovely, round eyes, as they desperately searched for an escape.
I could almost taste their pain. I chewed on it. I crunched their pleas for help between my teeth. I swallowed their innocence. I digested any hope they had left.
And so, came forth the feeling. That indescribable sensation that spread through my body.
It was madness.
And madness was magnificent. Madness was fulfilling. Madness was satisfaction. Madness was content. Madness was bliss.
Drunk on this delight, I blinked again, only to be greeted by the dreary walls of my cell.
I heard a scream.