Bogleech.com's 2014 Horror Write-off:
It all started as most dreams do, he supposed. Indeed, it had been a few months since he'd had any other dream. So repetitive it was that once he saw what he uncreatively called The Beginning Scene, he knew what was going to happen next. For the past few months it was always the same when he slept, sitting in a chair in the center of his room. Looking down, he saw that his room was ankle deep in blood, presumably his. He had always assumed this, for his arms were covered in deep gashes and cuts that went down to the fatty layers beneath his skin. The room then darkened, and he found himself holding some sort of hatchet in his hand. Anything civil was then stripped from the dream at this point, for he hacked at his left wrist with the weapon and watched his hand hang off a bit of skin and tendons. So when he found himself sitting in his chair in the center of his room, as always, he knew what had to happen. His arms seared in pain as he picked at the fat exposed by the deep cuts on his arms. He winced, and felt that something was wrong. Looking down, he found the hatchet laying on the floor. On all other occasions, he would never wake up until he hacked his hand off, and he very much wished to be awake now. So, with eyes shut tight, hatchet in hand, he swung down on his left wrist. He opened his eyes and watched blood spurt all around his room, all he could hear were his own maniacal screams. The weapon was lodged into his wrist, he screamed. He felt utter agony, and screamed. When he finally stopped screaming, he was no longer awake, and would never dream again.