Dream a Little Dream

I woke up with a spasm. A jolt. A start. I bolted upright and screamed. The terror that had just been so present in my mind was nowhere to be seen, or even felt, in the darkness that surrounded me. The soft, gentle hum of the air conditioner was the only sound filling the quiet night as I stared blankly around my room. The cold breeze of which gently brushed my naked skin as I tried to remember what had startled me so.

I had been dreaming of... I couldn't remember. Yet it was so vividly unsettling just a moment before. I turned and reached to the other side of the bed out of instinct. The side where... Where there was nothing but an old, unused pillow and memories.

I laid back down and closed my eyes; snippets of the dream, the nightmare, came rushing back. There was taunting. There was screaming. There was yelling. There was rage erupting. There were phrases said... Phrases crafted with the intent to hurt. To injure. To wound the heart and the soul. There was crying. I touched my hand to my cheek and noticed tears trapped in the soft, yet brissly whiskers on my unshaven face. How had I not noticed this before? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to push out these visions. These pictures filling my mind. I felt a tear leak out of my right eye and roll over my nose and face and melt into the pillow.

With eyes still closed, I again reached to the other side of the bed and took hold of the old, unused pillow. I drew it to my heart and wished for sleep.