Brewing Dead Cat In The Witch’s Hat: A Nightmare Retold

 
Last night, peering behind the mysterious veils of my subconscious, twists of dark magic bled a new instigation of abysmal dismay…
 
The abyss produces a dimly lit stage, where a black cat is conjured with a punctured festering wound. Bubbling with green-yellow pus, acerbic stenches ooze from the infected orifice. Brittle and rigid in skeletal display, as though rigor mortis grips its very will, the manged animal is submerged into a steaming pool of blood-red wine within the witch’s hat. A hideous gimp woman enters scene, approaches, and observes hauntingly to an out-drawn soul: “Oh child, look - it doesn’t hurt…” With an evil glisten in her vacant eyes, her lips moisten and a toothy grin grows, as she churns the cavity in her brewing familiar with swift pounds of her razor-knuckled fist. Crazed and demented, the dingy feline suddenly thrashes wildly, clawing out clumps of its own entrail-matted fur in frantic desperation. Though howls and hisses appear to escape from the feral beast, they remain silent to the audience, who are now suffocated hostages gripping at crucifixes in witness to such abhorrent mutilation. Ever deep, the trembling creature’s wound deepens endless; a sustained blood flow, sticky thick yet unclotting. Then a young timid girl appears from the shadows, crying in despair at the repulsive carnage. She implores the crone to cease the despicable torture, but the wicked hag fervently persists, relishing in the torment. When the initiation peels taut every last nerve, mourns of the child echo in the sacrifice’s pulsating death rattle. Licking at the afterbirth, the poisoned spirit of the demonic cat cradles her newly accursed pet girl in silhouetted disdain, but the wretched gore remains.
 
And I awake, to the smothering darkness, of a dreadfully hopeless soulless fate…