excerpt from a story I will never write - Jihan Mour.
In all of the dreams and premonitions I've had in the eighteen long years I've been alive, none have ever been so gruesome or bloody. I see walls painted with crimson splashes and streaks, viscera adorning the chandelier like strings of diamonds, and human organs displayed like trophies. I'm lucky that I work for the FBI. If I wasn't used to seeing this on the daily, I would probably hurl. But the thing is: I see death when I physically go to the crime scenes, not in my visions.
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