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Dreams


She awakes, moaning, damp hair clinging to her cheeks.

She struggles to catch her ragged breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply, as if to physically expel the memory of her dream. None of this should be surprising by now; every night brings a fresh nightmare, and every morning a desperate awakening. It’s just that there seems to be so much damned variety in her dreams. After a lifetime of fitful sleep visited by an ever-changing cavalcade of monsters, her only creative ability seems to be dreaming up new horrors each night. Demons, dragons, Martians, serial killers, deep sea creatures, beloved pets turned rabid, bizarre twists of mundane circumstance - all have taken part in robbing her of restful sleep, for as long as she can remember.

She stumbles to the bathroom, turns on the light, and looks at her haggard reflection in the large mirror - the dark circles around her eyes, the too-prominent cheekbones, the pale skin - and whispers, no more. Please, no more.

The doctor gives her a prescription - a bottle of tiny white lozenge-shaped pills. Take one just as you’re going to bed, he says, and you’ll sleep peacefully all night. If you have any dreams, you probably won’t even remember them.

Gratefully, she swallows a tiny pill, chases it with cool water, and climbs into bed.

Her sleep is blessedly sweet and deep and dreamless; and if there are any dark things scuttling around the edges of her consciousness, she does not notice them.

Be thankful for the demons, the dragons, the monsters that haunt your nightmares and awaken you so suddenly. It may be that they are guardians, however fearsome, who keep more monstrous things at bay. Perhaps it is during your most unguarded, your most relaxed, your most serene and dreamless nights, that the dark scuttling things may find their opportunity at last.

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