A streak of terror overtook him. Why was this happening to him. All he needed to do was wake up and all that weighed him down would be lifted. His wife would be quietly asleep at his side, the morning traffic would hum just outside his window. It was all just a sick joke and he could leave it all if he could just wake up - the memory of his dream dissolving with every waking moment, crumble with every physical task that would replace the volatile memory cells of his mind. Or was it his waking life that he despised even more? Was it all the unpaid debts, the unscrupulous people, the unpleasantness of not being able to do what he wanted? Was it the disparity of living as a cog in the cold machinery of society that made slumber an attractive escape? But what was once nights of creaking on an old fishing boat on a warm summer night, was now became jaw-locking screeches of deep dark guilt, regret, and at times malice.
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