I’m writing this late at night. I just woke up from a
nightmare. In it I was back at the art building, except I was the one that was
on the bench drawing. I was drawing him. Every time I looked up at him, he
seemed to be getting closer and closer to where I was sitting. This went on for
what felt like years before I heard a voice off to the side. My own voice. I
looked to the side and saw myself standing there. The man I was drawing slid
into view behind the me who was standing at my side, close enough to touch, and
I got a good look at his face. Except he didn’t have a face. He reached for me,
his hand sliding effortlessly through the other me, and I woke up just as he
was about to touch my face.
But the worst part was that when I woke up, that same
drawing that I drew in my dream was in my hands. I had drawn it in my sleep.
My roommates have alcohol, right? I need a drink or two.
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