The Waking Dream

Sleep clutched me at the nape of the neck, as I struggles awake. I reached out and my hand found it, the light switch. Sweet warm light flooded into the living room. Awake and slightly disoriented, I staggered to a sofa, stifling a yawn, wondering why I had sleepwalked to the sitting room.
The tick-tock of the wall piece drew my gaze. 3.47am, still morning. Everything was quiet. The half quiet that defines the early hours of morning. The solemn quiet that frogs and other nocturnal elements failed to respect. Frogs croaked, some other insect chirped.
I stifled another yawn, then another, then let the third one go unrestrained, guiding it along with my splayed fingers. After searching my mind unsuccessfully for why I had woken and walked to the sitting room I stood to go back to bed. Then I spotted it. The padlock to the ‘protector.’ I stared at it confusedly for a while, then my half awake mind connected. If the padlock was here then the protector was unlocked. As I walked foward to investigate further, the handle of the door creaked and the door swung open…
…then I woke.
What a weird dream. I felt thirsty so I after stretching groped my way to the sitting room as the corridor light was bad. As the light came on my eyes fell on two things that stole the sleep from my eyes, sharply bestowing clarity and at the same time leaving me in even deeper confusion. One, it was exactly 3.47am, and incongruously, the ‘protector’s’ padlock stared at me calmly, in defiance of all logic. “You can’t be here I thought confusedly and it can’t be 3.47am. That happened before. Which is dream, which is reality?” Then the door swung open…

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