#ewewew.

She couldn't get out.  She couldn't choke on dreams either.  They could make her sweat; convulse, even.  But she shouldn't be able to choke on them.  It was unnatural.  And she hated the feeling.  It was kinda like gagging on your finger--just that one time--to see if anything extra would come out; extra nothing.

--

One brunette girl in a coffin....  Her?  It looked like her....  Her slightly upturned nose, her lips--but less chapped, and redder; they were prettier than hers--but it was only the face.  

Herself, in a dress her mother probably thought was appropriate--something not too short, with sleeves, something she wouldn't freeze in was her guess; it was the only thing she couldn't entirely see, almost like she wouldn't let herself, not in that--was barely her.

The brunette was pale and had her face--and that where the similarities ended; for her anyway.  That brunette didn't look starved... she looked normal--exhausted, but whole.  What everyone wanted Mel to be....  The girl looked she died in an accident, a pretty mistake that had been mourned.  A car crash maybe--a quick one that snapped her neck; something that allowed an open casket.