I guess 8eing lame pays off, when dying a hero's what get's you killed

I'm Carina MacNeil. I'm prone to bad dreams. It's some psyche thing with a big, Latin sounding name, and I have medication for it. The thing about the meds is that they don't always work. Mine don't work often enough that sometimes I don't bother taking them at all. Three days ago, my medicine stopped working entirely. My dreams were getting progressively worse in the weeks leading up to it. For the past three days, I've had the exact same dream. In the dream, I'm in a white room, strapped to a hospital bed, with one bed next to it. There is a girl I don't know laying on it. Neither of us speak, and we are both clad in hospital gowns. The girl next to me looks exhausted, weak, and sickly. I wonder if I look the same way. Then the Voices come. Always the same nonsensical words. Disembodied. I hear footsteps of people who aren't there. I heart a heart monitor that doesn't exist. Then the girl in the bed next to me screams a scream that could make the Sahara freeze over, and blood pours from her arm. Someone is cutting into it, but no one is there. Then I see a cut open up on my arm, but I feel nothing. After sufficient blood loss, everything goes black, and I'm falling, falling, falling, and the hospital gown changes to a red dress with a white apron, and I'm wielding a sword. My arm still bleeds. I land lightly on my feet, which are now inside brown Victorian-style boots, and my skirt billows around me. I'm in a forest. My hair, usually long and dirty blond, is now short and brown. A boy stands in front of me. He's wearing an overlarge shirt, no shoes, and has ratty black hair that covers his eyes. He holds a doll wearing the same dress as me, with the same hair, and a little felt sword sewn onto her hand. I step back, and the boy hums a haunting tune.

“Ichibanme ARISU wa isamashiku ken o katate ni, fushigi no kuni. Ironna mono o kirisutete, makka na michi o shiite itta. Sonna ARISU wa, mori no oku. Tsumibito no you nito jikomerarete. Mori ni dekita michi igai ni, kanojo no sei o shiru sube wa nashi.” He sings slowly. Somehow I know it's Japanese. He puts the doll on the ground and puts a little birdcage over it. A larger one drops around me. I clench the sword tight in my hand and slash at the bars of the cage in vain. I know it won't get me out. It only makes me tired, and the little boy in front of me just giggles and walks away. I scream out of anger, and I watch some bird fly away. I look down at my bleeding arm. The sight makes me want to hurl. Instead I faint, and the scene changes again. I am in a room, still in my “Arisu” clothes. The room has a cement floor, the wallpaper is faded and peeling, there is one window with cracked glass, and an old chair with ripped upholstery. The whole room smelled like weed and meth. And there were the Voices again. The people who aren't there. Echos and shadows of those who had been here in the past. I feel a sharp pain in my back. This pain is what wakes me up. If you are reading this, please help. Every time I wake up, I find another cut, or a bruise. And they don't go away.

Please help me.

I'm going to die.

My dreams are going to kill me.