I walked into my son's room, holding his hand. There he was on the bed.
I woke up and spat blood. It floated.
Waking, I realized I was in a coffin, underground, and began to scream. A hand reached over my mouth to silence me.
I sat on my chair, typing away. Suddenly, I felt two hands, one on each ankle.
I woke up and tossed my red sheats off me. As I became less groggy, I realized they were white when I went to bed.
When I awakened, I found I had been holding my daughter's hand. I don't know where the rest of her is.
Turning, I cuddled up to my wife before remembering that she died in childbirth.
I looked out the window and watched the forest. One of the trees ran.
I awoke, my eyes still swollen shut from the accident a few days ago, feeling my girlfriend's breath on my face while she held me. The toilet then flushed.
I awoke, my dog licking my face. Too bad I don't have a dog.