A Thousand Ways I Died

It always begins the same way. A dream.

I’m someone else—but I don’t realize it at first. Their thoughts feel like mine. Their memories fit too easily. For a while, everything feels normal. Until it doesn’t.

Something always goes wrong. And when it does, I feel everything. Every thought. Every second of fear. Every ounce of pain.

One of the first times, I was Sandra. A nursing student. Broke. Tired. Desperate for extra cash. When the couple offered me a babysitting job, I said yes without thinking twice.

They had two pit bulls. I didn’t mind. I liked dogs. They were friendly—at first. I played with them, fed them treats, let them get used to me. By the end of the week, they trusted me. Or at least… I thought they did.

A few days later, the couple left town. They asked if I could stop by and feed the dogs while they were gone. I agreed. Why wouldn’t I?

The first visit was normal. The second, too. The third time—something changed. The dogs started fighting. Low at first. A growl. Then teeth. Then chaos. I stepped in without thinking, calling their names, trying to pull them apart.

That’s when they turned on me.

I ran.

I didn’t make it far.

One of them caught my leg.

The pain was instant—sharp, blinding. It shot through me like lightning. I screamed and tried to climb the fence, fingers slipping, body shaking—

Then the second one hit me.

I don’t remember hitting the ground. Just the weight. The tearing. The sound.

I tried to scream, but it came out wet. I tried to fight, but my body wouldn’t listen. All I could do was think. About my parents. About James. About how this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Time stopped making sense. Minutes stretched. Or maybe it was hours. I couldn’t tell. I just remember the pain… and waiting for it to end.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in my bed. Whole. Breathing. Alive. But I could still feel it.

My hands weren’t hers anymore. My name wasn’t Sandra.

It was Joseph.

And that’s when I realized—it wasn’t just a dream. Because it didn’t stop. Now, every time I fall asleep, I wake up inside someone else’s life. Always a stranger. Always the same ending.

Death.

And lately… it’s been getting closer.

Sometimes, I don’t wake up right away. Sometimes, I stay just a little longer. Long enough to start recognizing things. Patterns. Places. People.

And now—I’ve started dreaming about my own life. I always wake up just before it happens. But one day… I won’t.