My subconscious must be in denial. I saw you come back to me. As though you had simply gone missing for months, but returned alive and well. I told you of many things that happened while you were away. Including, of all the strangely random things, the results of your .. not colonoscopy, but that similar thing where they make you swallow a camera and then take a bunch of pictures of your digestive tract and stuff. Which you really did have done not that long ago.
We embraced, but it was fleeting. We spoke with words of silence and in quickly forgotten whispers. Then we settled back into some oddly normal routine. You asked me to make you a fruit smoothie. Also with a tiny camera in it. Apparently you weren’t satisfied with the results the first time?
And then, as most dreams do, it got strange..er. We were in bed; a night had passed. I was trying to get up. I did, and you had rolled over into my spot and lay there sleeping so peacefully, comfortably. I stroked your arm and whispered a word of comfort as it looked like you had a bad dream for a second. Scene re-set. I’m trying to get up from the same position again, barely able to move. You’re no longer there. I stumble and turn back to see myself still sleeping on the bed. Not you. No more you.
Scene re-set. I’m stuck in a position but trying to get up again; the dog is next to the bed, but when I finally wrest myself from the pillow and stand, the dog is on the bed too — a replica? Scene re-set. This time I’m truly struggling to get up and awake. One more time. Some kind of strange background noise, almost like elevator music, seems to have been playing on repeat this whole time; I get a flash of an announcer-style voice saying “thank you for trying such-and-such wake-up tunes; this has been a free trial, but if you’d like more, please call and subscribe.” The hell? I literally drag myself out of the bed one last time, barely moving, almost purposefully trying to fall over to cause some kind of jolting motion in hopes that, like Inception, it will trigger a “real” wake-up.
It does. And I’m alone. Well, except for the dog. And she’s not replicating, thank God.