CYAN
It was not a dream. It was something less formed than a dream. It was just a sensation of warmth turning into cold.
I felt something slipping through my hands like sand. There was the smell of salt water and the sharp tang of iron.
I felt the weight of someone leaning against me. Then that weight became an absence before I could even fully register that it was there.
My thoughts were not complete yet. They were not coherent. They were just a direction, like a compass needle pointing toward something that was no longer there.
Then I reached the surface. I did not break through it with a splash. I was just present all of a sudden.
I felt the texture of the fabric against my cheek. It was not my fabric. I felt the specific weight of a heavy blanket. It was not my blanket.
I heard the sound of a television playing at a low volume. Something was on the screen, but I was not watching it.
