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Isn't a Nightmare Best-Burnt and Buried Forever?
My grandfather took me into his bedroom and slipped out a book from under a sofa. It was filled with dozens of photographs of my grandfather in bed, his face contorted into fear. I wondered why someone would photograph another's nightmares. Why would anyone want those memories and feelings to live on? In my school journal, I remember writing words in a blindingly red crayon: Isn't a nightmare best-burnt and buried forever?