Dreamside
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Lee was having trouble sleeping. It was already near dawn, and blades of light were slipping between the ribs of the blind. He’d spent the night on the edge of sleep, but every time he let go, something stirred in the dark and shook him awake. Not scary exactly, but enough of a jolt to flip him out of sleep. He opened his eyes. It was easier to give up.
The luminous dial on his clock blinked: outside a horn blared. He felt sticky and sweaty. His bed was a knot of sheets, his eyes were pasted half shut, and his hair stood up in a quiff. Fumbling to the bathroom, he turned on the shower and scalded himself.
It had been a strange night. A dervish of unfathomable, fevered images had crowded his dreams. Now they were sluicing away, as though painted on his skin. He threw on his once white towelling robe and went into his kitchen. Somewhere a time-set radio switched itself on and a breakfast voice piped feebly. He took an egg and cracked it on a pan but it didn’t break. He tried a second time. Again it didn’t break. “Oh, no,” he said, “oh, no…” Raising the egg close to his face, he blew on it sharply.