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"What is it, Nick?"
He relaxed his grip and laid his head back on the pillow. In the bright
light of the moon, he looked at her and returned to himself. Those
monsters! So vivid!
"Nightmare," he croaked hoarsely.
She smiled, her lips glistening in the moonlight, and kissed him gently.
"The apple pie," she suggested. "Nightmares are usually caused by eating
"It was so real," he muttered. "So real. I ... I was on another planet
... I wore a blue uniform with yellow stripes on the legs and my name
was Lors, or Lars. The natives, horrible monsters, were in a state of
revolution ... they killed my driver. I was alone and they were all
"Science fiction," she cooed and stroked his hair. "I think it's a good
sign. All you ever read, for relaxation, was science fiction. Your dream
was probably a story you once read and your mind put you in the hero's
He sat up and looked at her. "Did I cry out?"
"You were mumbling. I couldn't hear what you said. Then you began
sobbing and thrashing about."
Nick ran his fingers through his hair and over the back of his neck, the
reality of the dream almost too much for him. It wasn't an ordinary
nightmare where he would be running, with a huge monster panting in
pursuit. This was frightening. Like a memory. Like some damned fantastic
He stood up and patted her shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Beth," he told
her gently. "I'm going downstairs."
"Shall I turn on a light?"
"No. It might cause the neighbors to wonder." He walked to the door of
the bedroom. "The moon is bright enough."
He walked into the hall, feeling his way in the dark places, and down
the stairs into the living room. As he sat in the chair near the window,
he thought about the dream. It bothered him, because it was unlike a
dream; it had the weird consistency and logic of a memory, yet seemed
almost supernatural ... Hell, what kind of thing had huge, yellow eyes
and stood nine feet tall? What sort of a world had a violet sky and
grey-green rocks? The whole damned thing had the scent of a Walt Disney
movie, the colors vivid and sharp, the landscape seemingly done by a
Apparently it was some kind of planet and he hoped that Beth was right.
Would it be possible for a man to get so confused via a crack on the
head, that he believed he had lived through the literature he'd once
read? What would he dream about next? _Macbeth?_ _Treasure Island?_
Christ, what a world!
If he could get to a doctor, a headshrinker, it might all be ironed out.
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