I had another dream last night.
The bones of a million pygmies form into a spider that looms over the forest. Everyone from the plane crash is a part of the spider. I can hear their voices begging me to stop. The horned skull of the wendigo is its head. It's jaw on hinges and spews fire as it whistles. I woke up, but the fire still dances in my eyes.
The zipper pinching the inside of my brain is almost open. The intervals of numbness and pain leave me staring into the void.