Trusty Reading Lamp

⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀ Dream P.O.V

I remember the jump.

I remember the fall.

I remember nothing else.

I was surrounded by nothing except the purest of darkness. I wasn't flying, yet I wasn't quite floating either. I was simply existing, as myself, in a sea of emptiness

'This must be a coma.' Yes. That's what all the stories said. The protagonists would always fall asleep for a very long time after falling a great distance.

(What's a story? The word feels comforting in my head. I must like it – whatever they are).

It may have been hours, it may have been days, it may have been a mere instant, but as I existed in the empty plane, a small glimmer was forming itself in the distance. The golden glow was alluring, magnetising me towards itself as I sluggishly waded towards it. As time passed, it grew and grew and grew, until I was encompassed by the light, overtaking my sight as my eyes slowly adjusted.

I returned to my senses and the endless plains of darkness had vanished, replaced instead by a rather cozy, yet spacious room. Ornate bookshelves lined themselves in rows towards the far end of the room, bordered by a monstrous stained-glass mural of what looked like some kind of... Angel? It had a halo anyway.

Situated in the centre, under the concentrated glow of a large overhanging lampshade, sat a circle of beanbags, each one its own colour. Atop them each sat a person, despite the bright light, I couldn't make out their features, faces shrouded in impenetrable darkness much like what I was surrounded with earlier. Well, All except one.

At the head of the circle, legs lazily crossed over one another. A contented smile on her face sat a woman resting on a beanbag of the purest white. And the mural at the other end of the room must have been depicting her, because she was beautiful.

When I laid my eyes on her, her smile only widened, and her eyes very literally sparkled. Her irises glowed like endless galaxies, like the numerous constellations in the night sky.

(Whatever a 'Constellation' was must have been powerful if it was having this much of an effect on him from just comparison).

I was rendered speechless by her beauty yet also slightly intimidated, so after a second to find my vocal cords, I spoke:

"W-who are you?" I felt the urge to punch myself – I really was pathetic.

I Thought, 'When I wake up from this 'coma,' I'm going to make sure I am not such a coward.'

Despite the ridiculous image he must have made, she responded, "You do not know me, little dreamer, we have not met, yet I shall tell you, my name. I am:"

"⯀⯀⯀⯀ ⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀⯀"

(Strange, I wonder why I cannot remember her name?)

Her voice was thick and sweet like honey, but also immensely comforting, like being swaddled in a soft blanket and cradled whilst being sung a calming lullaby. I felt safe, safer than I ever had before. I felt like, no matter where I was, even if the world were ending, I would be fine as long as she was with me.

It was having the desired effect, as my sight began to grow foggy and distant, eyelids drooping. She spoke again:

"You must be growing tired, my dear dreamer. Do not worry yourself. We shall meet again. Just relax"

In an equally bright flash, partially obscured by my falling eyelids, I was expelled from the welcoming room, and once again returned to the cold inky blackness of nothing.