Sometimes you close your eyes to a nightmare.

Sometimes you wake up to one.

Facing point last night I woke up from a restless dream where large swooping shapes

shapes me through a nightmares version of the Neverglades.

Gutted sore fronts, dead grass and human beasties crawling on a cracks in the street,

freaked me out.

I was glad when I finally opened my eyes and escaped from that hellscape.

Took me a few seconds to realize that my bedroom had turned purple.

I rubbed my eyes still a bit delirious and waited for the illusion to clear.

I hoped I hadn't popped the blood vessel or something.

Eyes felt fine.

Room stubbornly remained its usual color.

There were little specks floating around in the air too.

Larger than dust-moats, just as wispy.

I took a breath in and accidentally inhaled a couple of tiny things.

Tasted like shreds of charcoal.

Roof.

I don't mean to wake you, honey, but...

I reached out to touch your arm but found my hand sinking into a sticky puddle.

I looked over and my stomach did a summer salt.

Right when my wife had been lying in an angular globe of light hovered a few inches above

the bed, dripping viscous black tendrils onto the sheets.

...