I have seen my nightmare world many times as I've slept; I have woken, covered in cold sweat and breathing heavily.
In my nightmare world, there is untainted blood spilled over the streets, screams, cries. Buildings are burning, set alight by the bellowing masses. They are churches.
In my nightmare world, I run through the alleyways, blood running down my face and pouring into my eyes. My head; bald, and not through my choice. I clutch the hated book to my chest, the words ‘Holy Bible' printed in gilt on the cover. My feet keep moving, my legs power on, but I already know it will be in vain. Soon, there is a gun against my head, tangible death metal. Men stand masked in darkness, and ask me the same question each time.
"If you continue to cling to that book of evil fairytales, we shall punish you. But if you let that putrid rubbish fall to the ground we shall let you go. What is your decision?" With no hint of regret in my expression, I reply in the same way each time, my voice quiet, but determined.
"I choose the truth." I kneel, submissive on the ground, hearing the words,
"Dispose of her." I hear the gun being filled with a piece of solidified murder, and close my eyes. I know I am dead.
When I am able to leave my nightmare world, I am still afraid. Nightmares are mental fabrications of our fears. Nightmare worlds are all these creations bound together.