A Dream

It began with a dream. The dream was a needle, syringe and push. The dream was a liquid, a slow seeping warmth in his veins. The dream was euphoria, a joy he had never felt. The dream was a drug, a mimesis of ecstasy.

And then he woke up.

The craving began. The feeling so intense, the desire for more lingering as the dream faded into memory and the warmth inside altered to become trapped body heat inside the doona. Withdrawal began, and he pulled his head under to try and deny himself oxygen, to send himself into a carbon monoxide induced sleep, a return to the dream.

And then the alarm screeched.

The snooze button was hit, but the action engaged his mind, and he knew he was awake. Still he could not let go of the dream. His mind now raced, seeking answers, trying to discover the way back. Sleeping tablets would not work, they induced a dreamless sleep. The drugs of his dreams had no analog in reality. Heroin might be what his dream told him he was injecting, but the reality would not match up. Even if it exceeded his hopes, it would not be what he was searching for.

And then the snooze expired.

The ripping of the alarm into his consciousness told him he had to leave the drug behind. But as he slid his legs out from the bed, he realised his hope.

He would sleep again tonight, and he would dream...