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"Here is Insanity," he said.  "Make sure you don't stay long, the flight in is super cheap but the flight out?  Good luck if you can even get a flight, not to mention how much you'll pay for it."


I looked around and recognized nothing.  It was blissful.  I couldn't tell what was bad or good, I had no sense of self or purpose, I lost, well, everything.  It was so nice just to be.  I thought I'd stay forever.


"Yeah man, it's kind of like day two-oh-six of a drinking binge, seven days awake on meth, the feeling of getting served divorce papers in a 'happy' relationship, your newborn having cancer, I mean some folks just call it shock, but it's not a good place to stay.  Seems comfortable, but don't do that."


I disregarded everything he said.  Looking far afield I saw what looked like the kind of grass they grow in stadiums, plush.  Sunny, too, and with this cool breeze I just wanted to nap there for a few years.  Walking over, my leg started twitching.  It twitched again, jerked, spasmed, until I had to fall to my knees.  I pressed forward thinking it was a cramp; I don't know why I'd have a cramp here, but after all, it's Insanity, isn't it?  My hands shook against gravel.  Was there gravel here?  Where is the grass?


The grass is gone.  I'm looking at a burnt out hollow of ground, a crater.  It's the remains of what I thought I was moving toward.


I didn't pay any mind.  I shifted my thoughts.  I remembered the boy in high school when he wore that hat with his blond hair peeking through the front.  I remembered his eyes, his voice, his everything.  He appeared.  The world shifted again.  


This time it was a classroom.  He was next to me and a professor was droning on, and he tapped me lightly on the foot.  I didn't feel confused although I vaguely thought I should be.  I blushed, even.  Here is this boy playing footsie with me, and I liked it.  The class ends finally and we walk outside and he asks me out.  I tell him sure, and time flashes again.  We're at a restaurant and the waiter has my order wrong.  I politely don't mention it, but then I look up and the boy across from me has a face crawling.  Not crawling with anything in particular, just crawling.  It roils, it moves, it distorts, and I feel wrong.  I want to vomit.


I run.  Time flashes.  We are in a room.  We?  What room?  I have no knowledge of who or where I am, or how, or why.  When is not important until I see the sleeping face next to me.  When.  It is years ago and I see the face of someone I loved dearly in bed beside me.  I want to hold them, I immediately feel as if I need to protect this person, I want them to be happy.  I no sooner finish draping my arm around him than the arm drops right through him.  He is not there.  I see him, but he is not there.  


I flail at the covers, I snatch sheets and pillows and gasp because I can't scream.  He is right there, and I cannot touch him.  He moves, further and further away, but I can still smell him, I can still feel the heat of him.  Clambering for him, I fall off the edge of the bed.  Time flashes.


I'm back home.  I'm in my own bed, in the right time, in the right place.  Sweating, heaving, I look and see nothing.  There's not even a faint hint that anything has happened until he shows up.  He tells me "This is Insanity.  Make sure you don't stay long."

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I've always loved stream of conscious writing. Waking nightmares are always a fun theme to explore especially in prose. And this nightmare is filled with brilliant imagery and a longing for what was and fear of what is too come. I really loved this piece.  Good job.

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