I can hear her. She’s always there, trying to tell me what to do. Sometimes she’s louder, other times, she’s so sweet. One night she took a human body, just to give me a lesson, I wasn’t listening to her. And she decided to scare me off, for that I would never ignore her again.
She climbed into my bed. She woke me up and talked to me. I was asleep as a dolphin, half of me awake, the other half still between Morpheus arms. I couldn’t be sure it was real, but I knew she was talking to me in her smoothest voice. She was telling me something important, but I don’t know what. I could say after a while that either she was reassuring me that everything would have been fine, or she was warning me to be careful. I didn’t know, I couldn’t say. She was talking to me and letting me know she was there for real. As soon as I tried and reach the lamp beside me, she blocked, stopped, grabbed strongly my wrist. She forced me to lie there, paralyzed, tide-up. I couldn’t move and my heart rate was so strong I thought I would vomit it out, my heart, is meant. Then slowly, when she was sure that she caught my attention, her hand released my arm, her voice fell silent, but her body was still there. I could feel it. I closed my eyelids as strong as I could, I forced myself in waking up once more from the awaken body I was drowning into with fear.
The room was still there, everything was exactly as a second before, but her body vanished. She shook me, trying so many times to get out, and now that she had her chance, she retreated, going back to her home. In the back of my head, once again she calls my attention: she asks if sometimes she could come out and visit the world, for without knowing about it, it is difficult for her to judge.