Young Writers Society

The water is seeping through the walls as I lay on my back, bed sheets beneath me. I don't know how I got on the cold hard floor but I'm there along with my two bed sheets, now encircling my tiny body. I was certain, not minutes ago, I was safe and sound on my bed, asleep, with no water inching it's way down my walls. It feels like I'm in this cosmic reality where nothing makes sense anymore. The water flow picks up speed and continues pouring into my room. The clear wetness is creeping closer and closer to my awaiting body. I watch it intently and the moment the edge of the puddle touches my big toe, I begin to panic. I try to slip my arm out of the blanket but it's stuck; I can't move. I try harder, with more tenacity, but the blanket is like a big hand, gripping me tighter and tighter with every attempt I make to free myself. I was never a fastidious person and my hair is now wrapped, coiled, around my face, blurring my vision. The whole room seems to have a malicious demeanor, holding me down as it fills with water. My nefarious blankets continue to tighten around me as the water level rises to my shoulders. I cling to the covers, praying they'll let me go before I drown in this tomb. As the blanket absorbs the liquid, it seems to be seducing the water to flow into my hair, suffocating me. Just as I gasp one last time for air, I let the water in and suddenly am jolted upright. I'm in my room, dry walls, dry floors, sitting up in my bed. I give a sigh of relief and reach out to pull the covers back over me to return to sleep. But, as I reach out, I find they're not there. I search the room with my eyes from the safety of my bed and see them in a heap at the other end of my room. Slowly I get up to retrieve them but stop halfway when I see a faint puddle lightly surrounding the heap of cloth.