For years, a dream has haunted me.
I see bodies broken on the floor. I hear the agonized cries for help. I see shadows, faceless men in uniforms, laughing and posing for photos over the suffering.
Every time I wake up, the horror feels heavier, more real.
And then I remember why.
It was never a dream. It was a memory from the prison hospital.
A memory of a nightmare or a nightmare of a memory?