I'm asleep, I think.
I'm dreaming, I know it.
Everything has that pans-reality feeling. People aren't the people they are - but they are. Places aren't the place they are - but they are. I would go into the details but the dreams of strangers are tedious at best: You were there, except you weren't you, you were my 3rd form English teacher and I was at my work, but it wasn't really work- it was a field in Cuba. All the kind of stuff which is/was enthralling to you but is pure tedium to the person that knows nothing of what you're ranting. But any way, I was dreaming and the dream was - how do I say it - invaded. The growing sound of water and I felt wet too, in my dream. My mind is confused by this wetness. And so I dream a while longer the concept of wetness growing through my dream and then alarm hits as my subconscious collides like a wave into a wall. I sit up in my bed, that hazy mid-night confusion a blaze. I rub my eyes - as big a stereo type that is - I rubbed them hard, as by the moon light streaming through the window I saw my bedroom filled with water. Filled almost level with my bed and its linen. My legs are wet. A million things run through my mind and amongst it all I feel my survival instincts trying to get the better of every one of them. Thoughts like: I'm going to die! Are swiftly felled by: Is the power off? I should be careful of electricity. A million voices fight for attention until my adrenal gland gets going and then bam! I'm off down the hall way, destination: Upstairs. Dry. I wade down my hallway through the darkness bumping miscellaneous flotsam and jetsam, could be lamps could be pillows, I could care less. I think little for my house and its glorious array nic nacs. I feel down the walls to guide me to my hand rail. And I am up climbing, dripping wet on to my plush mahogany stairs. Two voices fight within me as I climb. One shouts: The world is ending! The other murmurs: It could just be a flood I guess.
I hear the roar of water growing louder.