Day 29

I wake up to hundreds of black, globular reflections of my face.  My eyes are huge and swimmy.  The blackness is nice and shiny.  I like all the pretty reflections.  I'm so sleepy.  Why did I wake up again?

I think about going back to sleep, but I'm captivated by the blackness that looks wet before my eyes.  It takes me a while, but I finally realize the convex forms are eyes.  Well, that's neat.  They look like black versions of the catch-you-stealing convex mirrors in Walgreen's.  Only prettier.  I wonder whose eyes they are and why they think I'm stealing.

I'm so warm and snug.  I'm wrapped in silken sheets and blankets tucked uniformly and tightly all around me.  I squirm a little to get my arm a fraction of an inch into position and find my hips are now perfect.  I'm weightless.  I'm cocooned in a hammock.  Wrapped up tight, snug as a bug in a rug.  I feel snuggled and weightless.  And sleepy.  I let myself go.  Drift away.  Into sleep.

I dream of sticky warm wetness in my gut.  And it is.  My stomach feels it and my eyes flutter open.  Then I'm numb again and staring into the eyes.  So many eyes.  Whose eyes are those?  I feel a hint of an idea that I should be afraid.  Like some intelligence far away is reminding me that I should move, fight, care.  But then I just swim back into those eyes.

I see a hairy spindly leg reach out.  Am I dreaming, or is she stroking me?  Lulling me to passivity.  I see it lean back.  I miss the wet black marbles everywhere as I see her mouth coming toward me.  She'll swallow my doubts.  I don't feel anything.  My mind and my body are wet and I'm swimming in the pooling black.  Then I'm numb and I go back to sleep.