A shattered TV screen, an image still playing across the shards. I’m awakening but the dream is still painted on my mind’s eye. I’m desperately trying to keep the fragments in a coherent whole. She’s walking down an alleyway in a seedy part of town, I’m desperate to catch her—I must tell her something—but my legs move as if underwater. Anxiety at not getting any closer to her, anger at my recalcitrant legs. I try to call out, but choke.
My consciousness hasn’t yet burned off all the sleep, but I’m losing the dream. It’s pulling away—the harder I try to hold on, the more awake I am and the less I have ahold of it.
I’m awake and the dream is already clouded over—details smear and pieces evaporate. Irretrievable. I swing my legs out of bed and think Now what?