Unexpectedly, you walked into my ungodly nightmare. You lurched me from the haunted table at which I was sitting - an abrupt upheaval back into 4am Earth. You gripped me at the shoulders and said, urgently, "Get out now."
I woke with true anxiety. Cast in the moon's sheets, I tried to stay conscious. I kept slipping back to that dangerous place, numerous times, each time being startled alive again by your warning. I felt straddled between two worlds.
I gripped rocks into my body. I shone some artificial light into my cornea because I've heard that tells your brain to stay awake. It was 4am and it was dark. I thought, 'The sun will rise in two hours. That's a long time to stay awake.' No-one was home. I remembered when I was young and some unknown sight was shaking my bed from its end. I spoke into the darkness: "You're not welcome here. You do not have permission to be here. Please leave, now."
I think it left. Not for good. But away.
You also left.
When I woke with the sun, all the details had dripped out of me. Or maybe, the moon had siphoned them out as it lowered itself past the horizon. I had a shell of where I'd been sitting at the base of my skull but not much more. Though I could see your face, gripping mine with its sight and feeding its words into my ears.
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