My dreamscape is vivid, almost lucid — a tapestry of places I’ve been and seen and only imagined, but somehow recognizable even in the depths of my dream.
I’m in a strange house, but I know it belongs to a close friend. I shouldn’t be there, I think. I try to leave when I see the window open; was it me?
Had I come in this way? But I know it isn’t, because I look through the house only to find her, lifeless. She’s been murdered.Read more on themighty.com