Only Herself In Dreams

The alarm is loud, irritating, incessant and loud. She bought it because the tone was just right to send her into a mild panic, like waking up to the self-destruct siren on the Nostromo. She slaps the snooze button by reflex but knows she can not sleep in today. Grudgingly, she sits up and turns off the alarm. She shuffles though her apartment and into her bathroom, closing the door after her.

In the mirror, she sees herself. Mussed up hair, half closed eyes, too large night shirt, no socks. She pulls the shirt tight against her body. She smirks at herself for a second before blowing a kiss at her reflection and releasing the shirt. She might not be a centerfold but she loves her body anyway. Reaching through the shower curtain, she turns the faucet handles by memory but checks the water by flashing her hand through the spray anyway. In one motion, she strips the shirt up and over her head. She steps through the curtain and into the spray, letting the water flow down her body. Turning she feels her hair grow heavy as the water soaks it.

Her alarm goes off- again. She knows she turned it off. Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around herself, she pads back to her bedroom dripping water. The alarm is off but the sound persists. Then she wakes up.

She slaps at her alarm confused. How did she get back in bed? Why isn’t she wet from the shower? Slowly reality filters into her thoughts. Dreaming, she thinks, I was dreaming. She turns off the alarm, shuffles into the bathroom, hoping she isn’t still dreaming.

She looks at the mirror sees himself and knows this isn’t a dream, just her waking nightmare.

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