I wake up. The alarm’s going off, but I’m too bleary eyed to make out the time. I look around. My room’s still dark. I throw off the blankets, sit up, and rub my eyes a bit, hoping that’ll make things clearer (it doesn’t). I swing my legs to the side of the bed and scoot off. My glasses aren’t on the nightstand for whatever reason, so I go to window to let some light in. I start to draw the curtains, and l’m taken aback by what I see:
Neon raindrops lit up by a nighttime cityscape peppered across my window, pulsing rhythmically, dancing with one another in an unimaginable infinity of arrangements. Their carefully choreographed display becomes more and more apparent, until the window itself starts vibrating to the same imaginary beat the drops are locked into.
I step back from the window and take a seat at the edge of the bed. I rest my head in my hands and let out an exasperated sigh. Then I’m given relief as the imaginary beat stops. I look up. Now the neon raindrops are streaking upward, and the beat has come back stronger than before. I look down, and I’m taken aback by what I see:
The edge of the bed is now the edge of a driver’s seat. My hands are already on the wheel, my foot already pushing down the accelerator as far as it’ll go. My neon black sports car sedan is made almost entirely of windows. I speed down a high floating freeway running between towering high rise skyscrapers, kicking up fog terminating right at the raised shoulders. The raindrops on my windows are dancing and streaking in front of a cityscape that’s bulging and swaying like some sort of kaleidoscopic aurora borealis.
I continue accelerating. Vortices of fog build up behind me, becoming progressively larger the more distance I cover. The vortices envelop the city until all I can see in the dark are my own headlights. With my foot still on the accelerator, I turn my head and look out at the vast nothingness beyond my driver side window. I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. When I open them, I’m taken aback by what I see:
City lights. A thousand city lights. No, a million city lights. Lights as far as the eye can see. Clear lights, obscured lights, spread out lights, tightly clumped lights. They move toward me and then under me. I feel like I’m floating. I feel like I’m gaining a new level of awareness—of myself and of reality.
I try to reach out and touch the lights. But before I can, something snaps me back and pulls me away. I turn around, and a blinding white light engulfs my vision. I put my hand out to shield my eyes as I squint, and I’m taken aback by what I see:
The ceiling of my bedroom.