Last night I had a dream that you were dead, it was surreal. It must have been around quarter past four in the morning when I woke up. I sat with an erect posture in the middle of my bed, hugging my pillow tightly—leaving no room for it to breathe. I wept ceaselessly, replaying the dream right from the moment when the doctor said there’s nothing they can do to save you. Tears of disappointment infused with last night’s makeup converged under my chin. I wanted to pull on my hair out of frustration, but I was bald—a quick hand glide over my scalp sent me weeping even more.
I mean, that’s not evil right? He hurt me twice, the second time significantly more than the first—he ruined my entire life. It wasn’t intentional, but the pain I have to endure is unbearable. I don’t just hate him, I absolutely despise him. I’ve spent weeks pondering on how to get my revenge, but thankfully there are people out there who routinely obliterate his kind with no remorse. I can’t wait to rejoice over his demise, I may even have a celebratory dinner with my gals—I know they want him dead too. They’ve seen what he’s put me though. Poor Bethel…may her soul Rest In Peace. She warned me of him before we even met, she crossed paths with him in their early college years.
In the midst of my thoughts, I drifted off back to sleep. Miraculously, the dream resumed or so I thought. I woke up once again, this time with intense pain in the right and left side of my chest. I didn’t remember much at that point, but I knew one thing for sure—this time he was dead. A quick look at my chest revealed what had taken place—a double mastectomy. A bittersweet sigh of relief ensued, accompanied by a soft utterance,
“Cancer you chose the wrong bitch!”
© Jenoy Merchant and merchantwritesagain.wordpress.com, 2018