Last night I woke instantly, as if from blinking, with the chemical ghost of the most intense emotion I will ever feel still gripping me.
True horror. The kind that sits calm in the face of the inevitable. I searched my fleeing somnescence for the revelation that birthed such a halting feeling…
I found my dreaming self incurably curious at one imperfect detail in a scene that was otherwise exact in its normalcy.
Nervously, unstoppably, I reached down for this anatopism and grasped — in the way it is possible to in dreams — the hem of the curtain of reality.
As I lifted it I realised the grass under me was illusion; as I peered beyond my heart stopped — I saw the clockwork that runs the universe.
It was so simple. Grand and elegant beyond compare, yes; but I understood it, it was trivial.
I opened my eyes, believing for the first time that I could face any difficulty knowing this was beneath it all, and hunted for mother's teat.