January 7/365

After that first night, Mary Margaret kept a small notebook beside her bed where she quickly recorded the fading images each morning. Some were vivid. “A room painted candy red with a mossy floor – I heard frogs there.” “I walked through dust as deep as my ankles in a long gray corridor, passing pairs of gleaming black doors.” “I found a white room full of spider webs. When I brushed them off my clothes, my face, they broke like icicles.” But eventually most entries were short: “No dreams.”



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