Read by Sarah Tolbert
The dream jerks me awake and I stare at the rough plaster ceiling. My body is filmed with sweat, and the pattern of cracks above me looks just like Nevada.
The dream leaves me hollow. An empty place like the inside of a drum stretched tight, a hollow place echoing with short sharp cries of dread or despair.
The dream forces tears from me eyes, crawling slowly, thick like worms, drying into sticky crusts of salt.
I blink once, twice, and emerge from the shadow of the dream. The pit of of my stomach aches, as if punched, once, twice.
I blink three times and I’m out of it. Out.
Rated PG for Waking Dreams (Not the Idealistic Kind)