It's a description of a dream of a morphine addict who is trying hard to stay sober. 

A life haunted is not a life at all. May it be a person, a thought or a ghost.

She boarded a random bus. She needed to breathe. Her mind was too fucked to care where she was headed to. Lost in the search for her headphones, she almost forgot that she hadn’t taken a ticket. Well, the bus was almost empty.

She paid the man and clenched the ticket tight in her hand. She couldn’t stand it anymore, everything that had happened and everything that was happening. It was all a mess.

She had to set her mind free from its bounds. As she made herself comfortable in one of the seats, she looked down at her feet and noticed how weird they seemed to her, as if they had never been hers.

She blasted her ears with music and hummed the tune softly.  While she sat there, looking at the floor and now and then out the window, she could hear voices, soft murmurs over the music. At first she overlooked them and looked out the window and noticed a dog who was running with the bus. She was amused with what the dog was doing but she couldn’t come to an understanding of why the dog was doing whatever he was doing.

She kept staring at the dog for a long time and then it turned to look at her with those green blazing eyes which stunned her to the bone. It was as if everything was void. She was brought back into reality by a high pitched scream. The murmurs had turned into screams. She switched off the music but the distant screams only seemed to become louder.

The voices had returned. She couldn’t process what was happening and it all happened in a flash.

She calmed herself and told herself that it was just a glitch in the audio. She convinced herself pretty well but when the screams came back to her, it seemed surreal. She needed to know what was real now. It had been One month since she’d been sober. She looked back and found a man looking at her with exactly the same, green blazing eyes just as the dog. She turned around to the bus conductor, only to find his eyes, blazing green, glaring at her.

Sweat trickled down her brow and her hands were cold. She had stabbed him in the chest with her nail filer. She had killed him, in cold blood. All of it just came back to her. The whispers had become louder and they just didn’t seem to lower down. She switched off the music and just sat there, hitting her wrist with an elastic band. This was something she did to calm herself, to bring back reality.

Her phone started playing a file on its own. It was a recording. She increased the volume to an 8. It was him screaming, begging for his life. She had been a morphine addict. What had she done? How had this got recorded? She tried deleting it but it just kept playing over and over and over again. His screams, the pleas, all of it was there. His green eyes glared at her in pain, when she grabbed the filer, the weapon of the murder, her wallet and a packet of morphine which he had denied her of. What had she done? She grabbed her wallet and looked for the filer and slit her throat open.

SHIT! She woke up in her bed but was covered in blood.

He was right beside her, in bed, fast asleep. Had it all been a dream? She walked into the washroom, it felt uneasy. Blood drained her top and her body felt strangely warm and cold. She looked into the mirror and fell down on the floor, dead. She started screaming and pushing at the bed covers.

It had been another dream.