Nine
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My eyes pop open. Sunlight streams through the blinds covering my window. The blanket sticks to my chest and I pry it away, noting the sweat stains dotting the surface. My heart pounds against my ribs. It was just a dream, but it seemed so real.
I swing my feet out of bed and start a pot of coffee. While the machine grinds, I return to my bedroom and jot down everything I remember. Wispy images sail through my mind—stormy waves, a cloudy sky, and fear. So much fear.
After saving the document, I open another and compare the notes. The details are the same. In the dream, I don’t see or hear anything except the sky and the water. But my fear is a monster intent on devouring me.
“Is it a memory?” I mumble. Maybe I should go back and visit my therapist.
I shake the thought and
