Dreamer’s Aftermath

I wake up to the annoying ring of my stupid alarm, frantic and sweaty with my arms flailing in the darkness.

My heart pounds like an oversized drum in my heaving chest, beating much faster than it probably should for a healthy twenty-three year old.  My lungs are working overtime, rapidly expanding and contracting as I breathe hard for no apparent reason.

My eyes squint impulsively, twitching against the disturbance as the outline of the perpetrating object slowly comes into view.