I’ve been having nightmares, and they’re getting more disturbing.

Last night, I dreamt that my family and I were in a phildickian version of twenty-second century London. We were in a small dinghy, tied up to a dock on the Thames. The sky was blacked out a la “The Matrix,” and soot covered everything. Storms were rampant, and we were preparing for a tornado, a cyclone, a hurricane, something of that nature. Something windy an awful, bound to capsize the boat and throw us all into the acrid water. And that is precisely what happened. There were other boats around, and I remember that we broke away from our moorings and
were forced into an area that we did not recognize. Just as we made it back to the dock, another storm, more ferocious than the first, stirred up and capsized us. I lost members of my family, trapped underneath the boat, which was upside down and filled with water, and imagined them suffering and drowning. I remember trying to turn the boat, screaming for passerby to help, and being alone. I remember the city in chaos, huge arachnoid machines flying overheard, assessing the damage, spotlights cutting through the dark.