"Yes, I can see your dreams, but I prefer not to. Dreams are like hallucinations, they don't make much sense. I prefer just to gather the emotional co...tent of the sleeping thoughts. Would you like me to wake you up if you start to have a nightmare?" I pondered the question a moment, and told her "No. I would rather my brain do what it wants. However frightening a nightmare is, it is always a relief to wake up- maybe that is their purpose, to make reality prefered over dreams." She tucked her. Despite the fact she stands outside my bedroom window, Lisa is (no matter what the National Enquirer might like people to think) as dead as Elvis. I should know. I’m the one who killed her. I’m the one who strangled the life from her and buried her deep in the woods behind the house. She loved those woods. And now, by all rights, she should be moldering in an unmarked grave, nothing more than food for the worms. Except she’s not. She’s standing outside my window and she’s driving me fucking. More

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