His name is Derek. He’s the new one. The one who thinks he’s clever because he read a book on lucid dreaming. Thinks he can control me.
He sees me then. Stepping out from behind a broken pressure gauge. The fedora low. The sweater stripes bleeding red and green. My face—the geography of a third-degree burn—cracks into a smile. freddy krueger movies
“I am the dream,” I whisper.
“Freddy!” he shouts, spinning in the gloom, hands balled into fists. “I’m not afraid of you!” His name is Derek