Lake Lewisia #583

[scrubjayspeaks]

The white noise machine had been a boon in the constant struggle against insomnia, and in time he found himself accustomed to falling asleep and waking to phantasms of ocean waves lapping at the margins of his bed. Sometimes it colored his dreams, sending his unconscious mind visions of moon jellies drifting through the halls of his former high school and submarines in the kitchen cupboards, so he thought nothing of looking out his second-story window to see a schooner buoyed along by black sails full of starlight and mist. Sense and reality caught up when his bare feet slapped weathered wood and palms burned with hempen rope sliding through them, but by then he was aboard, hauling away with the rest of the crew.

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LL#583