Prompt: Describe a dream you’ve had that included a resonant voice or conversation. Of course you may embellish, reconfigure, disguise, and if necessary invent all or any elements of your dream.
I opened my eyes and stared at the uneven ceiling of my room. Fine woodwork is one of the underappreciated aspects of Yale; whoever had decided to cover the pipes that would otherwise run across my ceiling with nice, rectangular boxes of drywall was a friend of mine. As I lay in bed, I pulled the comforter high up on my neck and bathed its edge with my warm saliva. The warmth.
I started – it was August. New Haven in August – humid, sticky. Ikea level 6 warmth duck feather down comforter – should not be necessary. Why was my room so chilly. Why was I so cold.
Remembering to protect myself from the ice air with my feathery friend, I shifted from my back to my stomach. Then, as the breaths going into my lungs led my body to rise fall rise fall, I scanned the wall in front of me. Next to my desk sat the window with eighteen frosty panes – the type usually used in bathrooms. Eighteen – seventeen! In the middle of the window one pane had unfrosted itself – this was not possible – and through the newly transparent glass a pair of eyes gazed at me.
As I made out the form of a man’s head in the window, my eyes began to water and pinch pinch, my nose hurt. I got up, ready to run to my door, on the other side of the room. My two feet fell to a floor that was, however, spinning. Each step made for the door brought me closer to the man. I cried as I marched unwillingly toward his glare.
Darkness.
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