I did not sleep well last night. I woke several times, shivering from unremembered dreams, anxious, afraid some alarm would go off any moment. For me, a restless night is rare.
But it meant, today, when it came time to open the Moleskine and write my tenth InkStains story, I would write about nightmares, and about the little men who bring us our nightmares in out sleep, and what might happen if a person woke before the nightmares could finish what they were doing.
From today’s story:
She opens her mouth, perhaps to yawn; but like a cat, she snatches the Mare in her maw and swallows him whole.