A slow burning thriller about a woman’s reflections on a nightmare. 

 

The roaches on the wall kept crawling through her memories... The many nights she woke to brush it off horrified. But was it just the roach she was afraid of? Every night she felt her heart in her throat and a hand over her body. Until one night when she was parched for vengeance. Grabbing the roach might be her last resort, but would the hand of shame evade her too? Where is the boundary that separates incubus and cognizance? If she strikes the roach, would the hand bleed to death too?