Fear Skin

I knew it was a dream when nothing would die. It was a cruel place, stairs appearing and disappearing, rushing creatures with sharp teeth in circular mouths, microbes the size of men, and impervious to my blows. Nothing would die, except the fear this place engendered in me, a layer of skin shivering as I run, pursued by the immortal creatures. I could not shed this skin, could not escape myself. When the thing in my hands would not die even as I flailed its body, repeatedly crashing its head into the ground, that’s when I knew I was dreaming. Now that I’m awake, I can still feel that fear skin cling to me, clog my nostrils, color my vision.