An account

09/02/10 I pull myself out of bed, even though I really do not want to. I am tired, and miserable, and everything's just a bit blurry. I drag myself into the kitchen and sit down, staring into space. Really, this whole thing seems a little... off. I hold up my right hand. "Two, three, four, five, six." Seems normal. My hands are leaving little motion paths behind them, just like they would in a dream. I dismiss the phenomenon, though. The paths are not distinct enough to really be noticeable. Never mind that I am sitting in the back-room kitchen of the motel my grandparents used to own. Never mind the fact that my grandma sold this place years ago. I feel shadows forming in the corners of my mind, indicating traces of worm-like creatures on the verge of existence in the other room. I go still. If this was a dream, I could deliberately induce a nightmare. That would be fun. Maybe I am dreaming. I am standing behind the glass doors to the patio, looking out over the lawn and the pine trees planted around the perimeter. There is a bunch of things I could be doing if this was a dream. I hold up my left wrist and bite down on the skin there. I catalogue my reactions. No pain, which does not strike me as strange, not really, because I can feel my teeth and lips on the skin there. I am tired. End recall. Scare Factor: 1/10 Rating: 3/10