Medical Fears by Angela Clarke (Writings From The Grave edit)

I just had the most horrible nightmare. I actually woke up screaming and crying, not realizing I was awake. It was so real. If anything would be the closest thing to hell would be the nightmare that which I am going to be relating. It was a horror that could not be fully described but if one writes of this, the numbing fear is the only thing that is vivid in my mind. That the horror which is there, is one that can be only in the blackest of winters of Canada.
    I know I've said that before on a number of occasions, but this was way different. Different in the sense of the details are too inhumanely horrific for description that one cannot fully describe the details of the dream but what would be able to be described as vividly as it would be as if I was sitting in the room right now telling this to the person who asked me about this dream.
    In my dream I was going into surgery; the hospital was one that was run down -- something that could of been in the South Side of Chicago or in Toronto, but according to the nurses that I needed an operation but I did not know exactly why I needed to be placed under the knife. Of what would be the damnable words of what would be written of this would be the closest thing to dying and going to hell as there is such a description. I was put to sleep by gas, which felt like I was dying; which my body was falling limp and numb to the world. I lost my breath for moment in the panicked thoughts running through my mind then everything faded black; it was the feeling similar to being buried alive but had not been placed in a coffin, it was as a coffin of flesh and a shrowd of some kind.. even though I was asleep it was like i was having out of body experience; that would as the gas took effect, the nightmare within the nightmare began to take its effect, that will it take its form of the horrors that would not be possibly or humanily describable..
    I watched the doctor as he made slits here and there all over my body (and places I will not mention -- namely the genitilia) for no fucking reason. I could 'feel' the blade cutting into me, and hear my flesh ripping, as something of an autopsy... He then started to inject me with needles, and then allowing them in me, partly sticking out. It is in the malpractice, of the fear that would be the instruments are contaminated with the HIV virus. (I have an extream paranoia of needles) I was so scared I couldn't breath; it was a slow asphyxation as when one used to play in closed refrigerators but when it seals itself one is in a coffin -- one that is waiting only for the death to be an open invitation. He cut me open like a fish and removed part of an organ, because it was worth money and he could sell it in the black market.
    When I woke and left the hospital I was to dazed to remember what he did. My lungs started to catch fire if I had tried to take in some oxygen, but it felt that I was getting asphyxated with a plastic bag. I couldn't breath right, and my knees kept giving in on me, it felt as someone had shot me in the leg at the kneecap.. I found out from other doctors I was going to die if I didn't go back into surgery; they sent me to the same doctor that did this to me. The sharp pain were in my arms from where the needles were still in my veins, that if one would best describe the nightmare as the closest thing to hell there is.
    I layed down on the table, actually then was mummified with blankets and surgical tape that I was not able to escape again -- He was smiling at me, like he was feeding off of my fear; feeding off from the sheer horror in my eyes when he was powering the bone saw and sharpening the scalpel... I felt so sick, weakening from the fright of the idea of going into surgery without anesthesia. The sick fuck of a doctor kept holding needles in my face to make me scream, the fear of the needles were that sharp where the veins had already started to show puncture wounds. I bolted out of there and tried to run home but i colasped and started to gasp for air.
    It was when I woke up I was in a bed in the hospital again where the doctor came into my room; dropped a tray of food on my lap. He then told me he made something special for me before we go into surgery again; that of I cannot even look at the perverse platter that had been prepared. I looked at my plate and it was whate looked like vomit mixed with blood and gore, appeared as a dimebowelment, combination of large centipieds and cockroaches were crawling all over the plate. I screamed and then lost my breath again, gasping, things going blurry, growing black when I slowly awakened. Screaming and crying, it still felt like i was in the dream. I could feel the sore spots where he cut me; from the sugical instruments used in the operations. Of the horrors that would be in dreams, one cannot really describe the fear that would be in the mind when he was making the cuts.
    It wasn't until my mother came in I realized it wasn't real and I couldn't stop shaking. "Angela, are you okay. It looked like you had seen death in the mirror."
    The most frightening thing being is that I have little red marks on my skin, the places where i was injected in my dream. Time is what stood still when I had looked that the tracks in my arms, it looked like when they injected herione into my viens -- similar to that of a junkie walking the streets of Chicago, as would be described in the journals of the Chicago-based writer in my correspondence that it would be the horrors among the mind that would be only of not the God of Christianity cannot even deliver one from the nightmares, that it would appear in the shadows of an eternal winter.
    That it would be the words written here would best describe a dream as this; for that would be written of a horror that is damnable or a horror written of a death normally described as a result of malpractice.

Note from Nickolaus A. Pacione: Angela sent this peice to me via email -- actually to my mailing list which being The Dark Philosophers Forum. She gave me full permission to do the revision and this is known as the Writings From The Grave edit. It is given that because I had done some revising to this one and one of the only but not the last one that I would revise into something longer. Anyone who would like this one, email Angela and check out her new site Vampyric Manuscripts: The Writings Of Angela Clarke. She was published with me on Lilith's Lair, and I have her featured on Of A Darkend Soul. Hers and others are found in the library section.