Hydrophobia

I woke up from terrible dreams – bugs that flew biting all over my body, Topher a monster with rabies, and me running with dreamy desperateness with three boys whose faces I never saw. We made it to an apartment – the kitchen was slimy-damp and full of ants and we found a passage to go through and at the bottom found piles of photos and pictures and all sorts of paintings, all showing a gaunt-faced man with blue daubed on his cheeks and a blue blindfold over his eyes dying or dead. And we found bodies. And the dream began with Tim waking in my bed and talking about a dream he had about Mrs. Graelyn, so when I woke up I was terribly confused about what I had and had not dreamed. And Tim pulled me against him and held and kissed me, listened while I told him what happened and assured me it was just a dream. It’s okay, he told me, I’m really Timpachu, Topher is just Topher, it was a bad dream but you’re awake now. I love him. And I don’t write nearly enough—like I’m not miserable now so what’s the point? Misery lends everything eloquence.