[ WP ] `` I have the strangest dreams when I 'm awake . ''

The dreams are strange. They come one-by-one or all at once, clambering over each another in a howling, violent mass, each determined to be the first to tear into my soft subconscious. 
 I stand on a hill and watch them as they pass. The ground beneath my feet is pale pink, warm, covered in a viscous substance. It smells like cerebral fluid. 
 They do n't spot me. They never do. 
 
 Somewhere far away from here, Jeanne is tugging at my sleeve. I can feel it, in a distant sort of way, but I do n't want to leave quite yet. Jeanne is not the girl of my dreams. The girl of my dreams - of *these* dreams - would be violent, untamed, terrible for me. Always hunting, always looking for prey. 
 Jeanne is not the girl of my dreams. Like everything else in my life, she is a compromise. 
 
 A dream covered in fine dark spines turns its snuffling head towards me. It sniffs the air. There is something dragging from its mouth, crushed between those enormous molars. A childhood memory, perhaps. It is of no matter. They keep me company in here; they can eat what they like. 
 As if in response to the thought, it lumbers closer. 
 
 In the outside world, Jeanne is saying something. Scolding. She hates it when I go into my head while she's talking. She calls it'zoning out'. 
 I call it something else entirely. 
 
 The dream is so close I can smell the thick stench of its leathery hide. Like mildew, like death. The other dreams are watching, thousands of beady eyes suddenly intent on my face. 
 `` Eat me, then,'' I tell it. `` Go on. You will anyway. Nothing *I* can do about it.'' 
 It tilts its head to the side, as though it can understand me, as though it would care if it could. I step closer. 
 But Jeanne's calling. 
 
 The transition back to the real world is abrupt, painful, impossible to pinpoint from the outside. 
 `` Wake *up*,'' she says. 
 `` Are you even listening to me?!'' she says. 
 My head hurts. I ca n't reply. 
 `` You look pale. Are you okay?'' she says. `` You zoned out again. What's going on?'' 
 The woman before me is small and beautiful and dull. I do not know her name. 
 But there's a sudden pain in my head, and I remember - the memory blurry, as if from a long, long time ago - that whoever she is, she is kind. And sweet. And honest. 
 
 She is not the girl of my dreams.
