I enjoy a good nightmare. It’s like watching a horror movie without paying for a ticket. Plus, I’m usually the star! I fancied one last night so I ate loads of cheese, it always helps, hopped into bed and nodded off in seconds.
I was wandering down a dark street searching for something, I don’t know what. Golden sunbeams lit my way. It was so quiet. I saw a little dog curled up in a doorway. It raised its head and smiled at me. I smiled back.
Then it all kicked off. The sweet little dog grew into a fang-toothed monster. I ran. It chased. I tripped. It roared. I fell. It towered over me, green slime dribbling from its gaping mouth. I tried rolling away but it put a massive paw on my chest. I struggled. Then it raised a back leg and peed all over me. It was like a foul-smelling waterfall. Nasty.
Suddenly I jarred awake. I was a bit damp, but I won’t go into details.
As nightmares go, it wasn’t the best. If I’d paid to watch it, I’d have asked for a refund. But at least I‘d have had some popcorn to eat.
Thanks to Susan Spaulding for hosting Sunday Photo Fiction and C. E. Ayr for the picture of his pet.