I found myself in my dream world of liquid black.

I had no idea what I was doing there. The last thing I remembered was... oh yeah. THAT. The event that shall not be named. Why did it have to happen? Why couldn't life remain peachy for a few years before the shitstorm of life returns to claim me?

Right. Like life would ever allow me such a happy ending.

The atmosphere darkened further while the space around me twisted and warped into a dark forest. Every tree was made from the mangles and torn up limbs of my victims, constantly bleeding as they screamed at me.

The noise penetrated my ears, making them bleed. It marked the beginning of sleep. Every single night started like this

I hate sleep.

A hand offered itself to me through the darkness, but I could never grab it. At this point, it was just a part of the script, I never could reach it. My dreams always followed the same pattern over and over, never deviated and never changing.

My sister's hand was just beyond my fingertips, forever unreachable by my dream body. The next thing that happened was a bit of psychological warfare before the real shit got started.

I fell onto my back and stared at the vast sky of endless stars, just random dots. Did I look like someone who would know their exact positions? They were there as torment. They made me feel small and alone; stuck on the ground while they floated in the sky. I admired them for their beauty, yet always felt bad after seeing them.

Some look to the stars with hope and excitement; I look to feel the real pain that they represent: failure. No matter how hard I could try, I would never be able to reach one in my lifetime. No matter how much I wanted it. It would always result in failure. It reminded me that I was still mortal, just some kid with a lot of problems and a fucked up brain.

Oh, here it comes.

The ground beneath me sucked me in like quicksand and dropped me into a funhouse made of turtles. There was demonic drum music constantly echoing everywhere as lights and sounds flashed about. It was very disorienting. I screamed and suffered in my little horror wonderland. Decapitated heads on pikes and turtles singing the same song over and over again. The walls dripping with blood, usual nightmare stuff.

Turtley 1st-17th showed up and constantly called me a failure, belittling me and throwing me into a steel box filled with their turtle skeletons. They all clawed at me, peeling away my skin until I was also a skeleton. Maggots ate away at my stripped bones and shit me out.

The maggot shit reconstituted and once again became my body. Then, I was put through a swinging bladed pendulum that cut me in half; reconstituted again, then thrown into a pit of razorwire, slicing me into tiny bits. Reconstitute. Nails were driven into every millimeter of my body, piercing every organ and nerve ending until I was a mushy mass of flesh. Reconstitute. Stabbed over and over again by a robot.

Things continued in a similar manner for what felt like days. It was endless torture every night. The worst part was that they were hyperrealistic, but at the same time so fake. As such, I never woke up from them.

I tried to end them early, but was never successful. And in the end, I was always met with the part I hated the most. I would see THAT man. He would curl his crooked yellow teeth into a smile and plunge his knife into my heart. He would ALWAYS punctuate the experience, waking me up. He's been with me for over ten years now; every time I've fallen asleep. I will never forgive him. I will never relinquish the hatred I hold for that man. I'll grip my anger tight until death claims me. I would deal with a billion years worth of nightmares if it meant I could hold onto my rage towards him.

I woke up in the real world. There was a slight sweat covering my body and a small turtle sleeping on my chest. When I awoke, so did he, my little buddy. He stared at me with his cute turtle eyes and just watched me.

I could only smile at him. The nightmare was nothing to me once I woke up, just some horrifying torment frosting to end my day. Turtley was gently removed from my chest and placed back on the bed I was on. I wondered how I got here, but that didn't matter, I had more important things to do.

My wounds were healed and I could think clearly.

This village has to pay dearly for their transgressions.

---------

I looked Max in the eyes while he stared back at me. I tried to get my message across with just my gaze.

'Forgive them, they know not what they do.'

He ignored me, giving me a cheesy smile and picking me up. I was put back on the bed while Max walked over to his bag and grabbed Mr. Axe.

No no no. PLEASE! MAX!

I tried to stop him, I ran after him, jumping off the floor mattress and trying to bite at his clothing, trying to get him to stop. Max just saw me as a cute little creature. I wished he could hear me, to listen to what I needed to tell him. Killing was WRONG. It wouldn't solve anything, just perpetuate the violence.

Max told me to stay back and opened the door. His eyes had literally turned red in response to his anger. The veins in his eyes had popped from his blood pressure skyrocketing. He was so angry that it physically injured him. I knew what he was about to do, and I had to try to stop it.

Luckily, Max only closed the door, but didn't latch it; I escaped this way. I pushed through the opening only to find that Max had begun in the dead of night. He had taken his axe straight to the head of the elder while he was sleeping in his house, creating a massive gouge in his neck that pumped red arterial blood. The door had been ripped right off its attachments and proved no match for him.

The massacre was just starting. Max was determined, and the last time I saw him so determined, we ended up in the void. He wouldn't stop until every villager was a corpse.

The people who had heard the noise were waking up confused and panicked as they saw the once near-dead Max now murdering their elder. Max used this to his advantage and killed two more in that time.

A few of the men leaped into action, throwing themselves at Max in an attempt to fight him. A few other men went to grab any weapons they could find, and the remaining men outside of those groups turned and fled into the night.

They wouldn't make it far.

Max would wait for weeks if it meant the death of those who hunted a turtle. He was psychotic. But not if I had anything to say about it.

Before I could run to him, he would move to a further spot and kill another person. Men, women, children, it didn't matter. Any of them that drank the stew was going to die. Some died in their sleep, others died trying to stop him.

I need to switch tactics, Max was too fast for me. Damn my tiny legs!

I decided to get the help of Allen. He would listen to me, he was supposed to be the bestest friend of Max's, and he didn't eat the soup. He could help me get Max to see the light of reason.

Jane was nowhere to be found, I hope that Max wouldn't see her as an enemy. I was afraid for her, she had eaten the stew. I didn't know how he would respond to that.

I turned my head around in circles and found the home of the boy I was looking for. It was easy since he was poking his head out of the window. He was still a bit shaken from Max slicing himself open, but now, twelve hours later and in the dead of night, he had shit himself seeing the death and destruction.

Allen was frozen stiff, just watching as his fellow villagers were being slaughtered like animals in front of Max the butcher.

I ran to him and tapped him on the wall as hard as I could, able to get his meager attention. He looked down, confused and scared, to find me, a turtle, looking back at him.

"What? A turtle?"

I tapped the wall again, then pointing to Max. Allen was caught off guard by a charading turtle, but came to his senses and leaned down to me.

"What is it little guy, what do you want?"

I tapped my shell, and then tapped my head, then pointed at his head.

"You want...to...shell him? And... get him to think? And... you want me to do it?"

Wrong.

Shell. Head. His head.

"You want to ride on my head?"

Bingo.

I nodded my head and waited to be picked up. Allen was clearly a bit apprehensive, but pulled me through the window and put me on his hairy head. It was ok, not nearly as comfortable as Jane's head, but he would make do. I pointed at Max, and forced Allen to leave his house.

The two of us headed for Max; he had been making too much progress. He was already done killing 70 percent of the villagers. I was both amazed and horrified at his efficiency.

Why can't he just be friends with them? If that was so, friends make mistakes; and they shouldn't die for that.

Allen brought us closer to the rampaging Max. His body had accumulated numerous wounds that were quickly healing. Every person that came before Max fell to his weapon one way or another. None of them could withstand a single axe swing. Each blow held behind it the full force of Max's power.

Allen was shaking with fear. Where was all that anger a dozen hours ago? I couldn't help poking fun a little.

I tapped on Allen's head, prompting him to take me off his head and look at me. I guested to his hands and then to my own, making the best throwing motion I could with my short arms. He looked like he got the gist of it and reeled back for the throw.

Allen launched me a dozen meters, my shelled body flying through the air like a discus. I was a bird again, flying through the sky, ready to save my buddy's soul.

I landed on his face, reaching my arms out and grabbing it with all my might. Surprisingly, I remained clung to it. Max started swinging wildly, thinking he was blinded and needed to kill the attacker. He stopped once he realized it was me. His rage subsided a bit and he stopped to take me off.

I looked him in the eyes again; begging for him to stop. This time, I think he realized what I was doing. He truly looked at me, not my turtle exterior, but my mind.

"You want me to stop? How could you possibly ask such a thing? If anything, you should be the most angry."

The only one that is angry here is you.

I take my hand and touch the bloody rock part of Mr. Axe then I shake my head. Maybe Max was as good at charades as Allen was.

"Violence isn't the way? Are you kidding me? They killed a TURTLE. One of your kind. They need to PAY. Vengeance is the ONLY way."

Vengeance is not the only way.

I looked back at Allen for support, but he himself was torn. His anger from the previous day told him that everyone needed to feel loss for his sister's death.; they needed to feel the pain that he was feeling. At the same time, he was staring at the chaos and death around him, his stomach threatening to empty. It was not as he hoped for. It was nothing like he imagined it to be.

Allen stepped up to Max. Their hights were fairly different, Allen needing to look up to meet Max's eyes.

"Yesterday, you told me that..."

"Don't try to create a lesson out of this. There isn't one. They killed a turtle, so they must die. Simple as that. They ate the stew full and well knowing that there was an innocent turtle in it. Count yourself lucky that you aren't on my hit-list for tonight."

Allen clearly shuddered at the thought. I tried to chime in, but they didn't exactly notice a turtle doing charades as much as a regular exchange of words.

Jane stumbled out of one of the homes, clearly still tired. She was already growing used to Max's character and simply walked over to the two boys and a turtle. She didn't know what she would do, but she would try and help Max.

The four of us kind of stared at each other, waiting for someone to make a move. Max didn't kill any more people while Jane and Allen didn't speak any more words. I was the only one moving, looking back and forth to the three actors, waiting for the starting gun that would erupt the next argument.

To my surprise, Max put away his axe. He began to pick off the pieces of dried blood and skin patches that had landed on him during the conflict. I was ecstatic! Max had listened! He stopped killing! For me!

My happiness was cut short when a villager jumped from the bushes, trying to play the hero. He ran at Max with the same knife he had used to cut himself open. The man got into very close range of us and was about to slash at us, but Max moved faster.

His knee was brought up to the man's chin lightning quick. The man's head snapped back so fast that there was an audible *crack* as his neck bent at a strange angle.

I looked at him with turtle shock! He promised to stop!

In turn, he looked back at me while picking up the knife and putting it into the bag, "Last one, I promise...for now..."

His face showed no remorse for the man he had just killed, no pleasure, no grief; as blank as if he was folding laundry.

I looked around at the destruction. 90 percent of the village was dead. The 10 percent still alive were mothers that had escaped with their babies, aided by a few cowardly men. They all ran into the forest, using the trees to escape Max's view.

There were now only us four standing there, surrounded by piles of bodies and puddles of blood.

Max looked at them both and smiled, "You want some water? I'm feeling water. Let's go get some water."

They followed him to drink some of the river's water, cupping their hands to get some of the cold and refreshing liquid.

As they were drinking, a voice boomed through the area. It shook the ground we stood on and sent ripples through the water. The trees all started to sway and the birds crowed and took flight.

"WHO DARES KILL MY WORSHIPERS!"

Ah shit, here we go again.