Sheryl Grassie

There is no perceptible light in the room save for a faint red glow from the clock behind my head. I lay on my back frozen in place trying to regulate my breathing. The room is icy, a discernible battle raging between the two opposing forces of warmth and cold. The roaring of the furnace audible even from two stories below is juxtaposed against the rushing of cold and wind battering the house from outside. I will turn myself and look at the clock. 2:08 a.m. I lay still and let the dream recycle through my mind. I work to further steady my breathing and allow the tears to flow freely, cascading down the sides of my face, pooling in my ears, and overflowing onto the pillow.   The dream is still too painful to attempt any dissection, any interpretation. Not as bad perhaps as the abduction dreams, but still… This is an abduction dream of sorts. The abduction of my heart that now works to regain a steady rhythm in my chest. This is my core, the most intensely raw and vulnerable place th...