The apartment is dark. I find myself walking barefoot in the quiet living room, every footstep makes a creaking noise. There is an eerie quality about the air. A sense of doom,  lurking around. As if someone is watching me.
I find myself in the guest bedroom, staring at a pool of blood. As I gasp in horror, I move forward to see the source of the blood, a dead body.
I wake up to a shrill voice roaring somewhere nearby. I can barely make out the words in my half conscious state. The soft cotton sheets and the embrace of the blanket have held me prisoner, I cannot escape their embrace even if I wanted to.
I know I must finish the dream.
I am psychic. Well not a professional one,but a damn good one. I see dreams that predict the future. The crazy part? I don’t know which dreams are predicting something and which ones are just due to my overactive imagination.
At first,  I thought it’s just like deja vu or something, but then the instance became way too much to ignore. Now I pay close attention to every dream I have and even try to keep a journal that I scribble in whatever parts of the dream that I can remember. Usually it’s not much.
This dream could be important,  I must see the face of the body.  I can avert a potential murder maybe.
The voice is now coming from right above my head, the source of the yelling is my cousin Lara. She’s crashing at my place for a few days, if the definition of few days is 5 months, rent free, I might add. I honestly didn’t mind it at first,  but then began the random  parties,  loud strangers, cigarettes, alochol followed my hours of me cleaning up the house after drunk teenagers leave it in a mess.
I wake up, annoyed at Lara for having interrupted an important dream.
“What?”I snap at her.
“Make me some breakfast, will you? ” She says in a commanding tone.
Before I can gather my senses she’s out the door. I gulp down my anger and proceed in the kitchen.
The nightmare has only just begun. I see that she has spilled a bottle of red wine on my new manuscript. I was supposed to show it to a literary agent today. Annoyed I ask her who did it?
“How the hell do I know? You mustve left it lying around carelessly” she taunts.
I clench my fists and take a deep breath and count to ten and start chopping up some chillies for the omlette. 
“Why are you all worked up?” She spits out between mouthful of cornflakes.
“It’s not like it’s a real profession anyways. I mean you could write another one of these Personal diary crap” she giggles.
I tightly grasp the knife in my hand, I know how the dream ends and who’s body is it without having seen the entire dream yet.


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