3 A.M.

It always started the same.

The first time I woke up with a facial made of dirt, a raven called out an ominous message from the safety of a tree stump ten feet away.

“Make it to the end of the trail to pass.”

I never saw the raven again.

Nor were there any thoughtfully placed placards telling me where the hell I was stranded or which way the exit could be located. The stillness of the air took seconds to crawl under my skin.

Am I alone here or is someone following me?

I stumbled as the dirt guided me along twists and curves between thick trees and dense fog.

If I walk a little further, maybe I’ll reach a store. I could call someone for help.

The crunch of rocks beneath my sneakers told me to calm down; if there was a path, there was a way out. Sensing my bubbling optimism, the nightmare claimed the ground beneath me, turning into a black liquid that operated like quicksand. The more I fought to free my legs, the further I sank, until my nose dove under the thick liquid.

Gasping for air, I clawed at my throat until I’m wide awake, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I put above my bed. An old habit I was happy to keep into adulthood. It was a reminder that I was home. Bold, red numbers revealed what I already knew. 3AM.

Sweat coated my forehead and I sat up to get a grip on reality. Jasper lifted his thick, black and brown muzzle from the corner of the room, sniffing for danger, and curling back up after determining there was none. Following suit, I pulled the blanket closer and flipped onto my side. The comfort of my fluffy pillow was an improvement from the thin, musky one I was forced to use for three years.

I held back the urge to scream; that would only agitate Jasper and sleep was more important. If it were even possible.

—————————————————————————————————————

Interested in reading more by this writer?

Visit Haus Reverie