Creature: 1:1.5

I dream about being in a space. There is a wooden table and a me and me has a meat cleaver in me hand. Light shines from overhead and I look perplexed, but not scared in the least. My facial expression never changes as I crane my neck to examine the cleaver as I curiously fondle it in my hand. Then I expectantly and ferociously swing the blade down on my opposing wrist. Severing my hand from my arm in one swift chop.

My face is winced, but there is no blood. I peek down not to see meat and bone, but I appear to be made up of some sort of processed meat. Like a Vienna Sausage or Spam. I lift up my nub to examine it. I now look concerned, but not scared.

I'm not scared when I chop off my forearm, my elbow, my bicep, my deltoid, my foot my legs and rest the blade finally, peacefully in my sternum.

I am a meat sheath.

I am a completely stoic torso of a man and I'm not scared in the least.

I only get really scared when I wake up.