Something had happened.

…she woke up with fragments of dreams scattered around her. She will be finding them all day long. Lodged in her eyelashes. Falling off the tip of her finger, or floating to the floor from nowhere.

Impossible dreams, tinted with hysteria. Alien.

The date is may sixteenth nineteen eight two. The numbers mean nothing to her. Another dream.

She played mental games for a while. Piecing together the almost forgotten fragments, filling the gaps with hope.

From The Book of Unfinished Stories

©aother

Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski

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