This is another guest post by Dorothy Donald.
My bad dreams have become more frequent again. My intricately detailed dream world is populated with boundlessly malicious, alarmingly inventive characters and they are usually coming for me.
The pounding in my chest as I realise what is happening; my legs filling with the electricity of terror and giving way beneath me; the weight of my body slumping forward; the pain, dull but insistent; my blood flowing warmly over my skin before dripping, red and dark, onto the floor in front of me; its metallic tang at the back of my mouth; the pounding on the door close by, too late; the curious, detached calm that comes on the far side of fear; the knowledge that I am about to die.
So yes, I wake up feeling pretty rattled.