I wake the next morning to sunlight peeking in through the window. I rub my eyes, wincing at the sharp pain from a cut on my cheek.
The previous nights events flash through my mind and my eyes fly open. I sit up and look around. I’m in my bed. But how did I get here?
Getting up to look at my face in the mirror, I pause. I’m wearing a t-shirt and boy short underwear. It’s normal sleeping attire for me but I don’t remember changing when I got home. I don’t remember getting home.
Forgetting about my face, I sit back down on the bed and try to remember what happened after I sat to rest in the woods. Instead of remembering getting home, what remember is my dream I had after I’d fallen asleep. I only remember sounds and feelings and it’s fuzzy.
I dreamed I was being carried, I was so cold
