Literature
The missing nightmare
Then I woke up. I sat in bed, my heart racing. The sheets clang to my chest. I was sweating, despite the coolness of the night. I clenched my fist on the mattress. My breath was already recovering a normal rhythm. I tried to go out of bed but I simply sat on the edge of it, rubbing my fingers in my hair.
According to the clock, it was half past four already. I decided I wanted a coffee. I stood up and walked to the coffee machine in the kitchen. I was still trying not to think about it. It had been so vivid, so real. I made coffee and sat at the table without turning the lights on, oblivious to the noises of the street in the early