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blue. The flowers were always sweet. The waterfalls thundered and fell. I'd be home again watching the butterflies and birds. I'd be changing my dolls. I'd hear click, click, click and her nails scraping against each other. I'd be confused for a minute and then I would remember them bringing it home in that blanket.

She'd gently, but firmly take my chin in her hand and bring my face closer and closer to her putridness. My eyes would look away from where the head used to be.. There was rotting flesh, worms, beetles, maggots, and things I couldn't identify, but no head.

"Where is my head?" It would ask. "Where is my head?"

"Where is my head?" That's all I heard in the back of my mind every day and every night. My head! My head! My head! I would hit myself in the ear to make it stop and it never did. Never matter how loud I would scream, I could always hear the little girl asking, "Where is my head?"

I saw the hope fade from her eyes when I didn't help her. I didn't want her in my house. She was going to die, but she was sick any way. Mama and daddy said she was sick. There was no hope she was a little girl that was going to die just like puppies die and fruit rots. There was no hope. Dogs get mutilated. Chickens get choked, and little girls lose their heads.

She'd let go of my chin and scream. It was like metal scraping on metal. She would cut me with her harpoon toes. My arms would go there. My legs fly. My feet fly. She takes my head into her hands and shows me where my pieces had gone. She had my head. I never wanted her to put my head on her body and she never did. She'd only show me my pieces.

"Now you know." She would say.

Each time I have the dream, I'd wake up crying. I never wanted to sleep and I tried to stay awake. I would stare at the white walls. I'd play movies on the walls with my movie camera eyes. I'd look at the moon through the mirror, reflected in the mirror. I imagine fairies in the mountains that were the wrinkles in my sheets. Fighting sleep was always a losing battle. Eventually I'd here her toenails clicking.

When I lie awake at night, and the cars pass by lighting up my room, I know I will see her headless body standing over me with that saw. I always hear her laughing in my head that I knew, but really, I didn't know. When I walk down the street and I hear footsteps behind me, it's her. That is what I know. I don't have to turn around to see.

It's my fault her head got popped off. I didn't help. My daddy was good. I thought he was always

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