I glanced at my digital alarm clock to see how much longer I had before having to get out of my cosy bed. It said it was seventy-four minutes past twenty-seven (27:74). What the…?
I turned on the bedside light and jumped out of bed. My clothes weren’t there; only a great green gown with a hood. I put it on because I sleep naked and had to put on something before walking around the house. And then I noticed…
This wasn’t my room. This wasn’t my bed. This wasn’t my house. I didn’t know where I was. I drew the bedroom curtains apart and gazed out the window. It was pitch black. Not a star. Nothing. No dark shape of anything.
I began feeling my way around the house, rubbing my hand against the wall in the hope of finding a light switch. There was no switch to be found. Only the dull light from the bedside lamp cast a small glow through the bedroom door. I was in some sort of corridor. Suddenly the bedside lamp…
went out.
I was in total darkness. I could no longer even find the wall to grope along. And then…
I touched it! I touched it! It felt a bit slimy and warm and bristly. I estimated it was about the size of a human but not a human. Not that I really stood there at 27:82 in the pitch black wearing a green hooded gown finding something slimy and warm and bristly and deciding to do a logical analysis. I was petrified.
Next thing my wife was there with her phone with the phone light turned on. I was in our meadow next to the house patting our cow. It would have been funny if it wasn’t surreal. And I had to wash my feet before getting back into bed.
(Footnote: In 2235 stories I have never resorted to a character being in a dream as a resolution to a plot. It’s an easy way out. But it’s only fair that in 2236 stories at least one should end in a dream!)
Weave a Web 