Nightmares

Nightmares. Bodies. Thirty, forty bodies, piled one on top the other in a clearing. Thrown carelessly over logs, half-covered by broken branches...dressed in funeral suits and fine satin dresses but their flesh decaying, fluids seeping from liquefying tissue in a putrid soup. Petechial haemorrhages, ligature marks, rigor mortis. Decomposition. Blood. Corpses rotting into each other. Walking through these killing fields and seeing death all around...what the hell is happening to me?