The jungle pulsed monotonous sounds white we all slept. I dreamed an awful dream.

One true love comes in each existence and she’d been mine for many years. Our daughter was the love we shared, our wonder, our perfect little angel of whom we thought most dear and conditioned all our actions for her better life to be. But while I slept I dreamed that awful dream. I saw my love so intimately known. She lay seductively upon a velvet suite, more vivid for the fortnight parted. I missed her touch, her voice and laughter, and had that very day cursed loud the mud, the swamp, and stupidity.

All I wished for was to be at home, with my family, with my two girls I loved much more than life itself. And in that dream I moved toward my lover as she watched across her shoulder my advance, but neither did she warmly call me on, nor quiver. Oh no! She turned a darkening shade of darkness and bared her teeth and was the very picture of repulsion and grew sharp spines protruding from her back which pressed beneath her skin until it stretched to almost bursting and it was more horrifying than words can adequately convey.

I awoke in shock and sat upright with eyes stretched wide to see upon the moon-stained wall the image still. Turning to the shadows, like static it hovered in the air before me. A glaring form more like an awful lizard. A pulsing, brooding, tortured picture which stayed before my eyes ‘til morning’s light brought on distractions of the day. An ominous feeling was jammed into me like a spear-head, “what meant this message in a nightmare?”