My heart lurches. My tongue sticks drily to the top of my mouth. I come to realise the world in which I now inhabit is vertical; this act of knowing knocks me off the rock and pulls me as if by ghostly horses. Shirt ripped from my back, skin followed. It took several attempts but I scrambled to my feet, with a sense of accomplishment I marched towards a destination unknown. I leant back as I marched, with each measured step I hovered up and ever so slightly backwards, as if I were on a windy moon.
...
The rest of this dream moved too quickly to record as fully as I might. I had taken and wore a tattered, hooded cloak. I took shelter in a palace or fortress. The floor was checkered. I stumbled into a costume party. Rooms in one solid colour each. People looked down on me. A gold skinned child dressed as Ramesses sat cross legged. I am only just entering the party. A lord stood on a table shouting at the party goers as they flee'd the scene. A dame, fanning her face, stepped backwards into a square hole. Grey women wearing huge mechanical braces played harps. I pushed open a colossal oak door and entered the fortress.
This continued until I woke up.
...
...
...
It was a car alarm which roused me from my fitful sleep. I could not move for two minutes. I was pinned, as if I had been buried in sand. After this I was fine.
Apparently sleep paralysis is an evolved mammalian trait to stop ourselves from acting out dreams, which by and large a good thing, lest one wake while the process is still active. I can't seem to win regarding rest as of late, perhaps it was better than sleep walking. Odd though, that I should suffer from both. I have reason to believe it will not happen again.
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