I was sick and I dreamt I was a tiny yellow fry, hiding at the bottom of a pond, in the murky, slimy algae. Around me, long sprawling leaves swayed back and forth, and I was in the midst of this garden, invisible to all. I didn’t move or breathe, just stared silently into the cloudy murk.
Long shadows moved beyond, sometimes revealing a claw or a tooth of some nameless predator. But whatever lurked in the stagnant, inky water, it couldn’t reach me. I was safe and warm in my tiny garden, eager to dig a hole in the sticky black silt and disappear in it forever.
