The Secret Sea - (Chaptered Version)

1*

I'm jolted awake as the nightmare ends abruptly. "Can't we change it up a bit?" I beg my brain, rubbing my temples in frustration. The bizarre imagery of the recurring dream has been haunting me for weeks. Hot rays of sunlight slip through the bent blinds and invade my eyes—no use trying to go back to sleep now. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, hearing its spent springs whine. Sleeping on the concrete patio would have been more comfortable.

My breath whistles through my lungs as I stand up and stumble into the bathroom. I empty my clogged nose on a stack of single-ply toilet paper and swallow an array of allergy pills. Damn this valley and its record-setting pollen-count. The trees lining every street are beautiful, but their yellow clouds of botanical sex lay waste to my sinuses.

I lean against the plastic counter and groan as my heart pounds from the stimulants in the medicine. The dream still feels sharp, jabbing into my waking mind. I grab a notepad from the nightstand and start to scribble fading details, eager to pluck the invader from my subconscious. My pencil moves as if I'm in a trance.

I'm frightened, but I know I can trust her. I give up trying to understand how she can exist and just accept her presence. It helps me move on. I follow her to the queen.

She rules something unseen but beautiful. Only superficially human. Glowing. Her face is covered in a mask. She says outlandish things I know are all true.

I'm in a void. Too high to fall. I release the page and everything explodes silently.

A secret sea.

"What the hell?" I mumble before crumpling the paper. The dream dissipates, recessing to the bowels of my brain. I need to move on to real-world concerns—it's time to check out of this musty flophouse. I stuff single serve bottles of shampoo and tiny bars of soap in my bag, stopping just short of stealing the towels.

My credit card sounds its death rattle at the front desk. From here on out I'll be living in my car. Camping on local back roads wasn't part of my plans, but neither was the blaze that gutted my condo and every vestige of my 25 years of life.

The fire was the flaming cherry atop a parfait of shame. A week earlier I had lost my desk job at Conley Insurance after falling asleep at said desk. I'll be decidedly homeless until I find somewhere else to work. My show at Lands Apart Gallery would have kept a roof over my head if all my paintings hadn't burned to ash. Oil paint goes up quickly. Acetone rags can spontaneously combust. Once again I swear to myself it wasn't my fault. I was careful. I know I was.

I'm not so different from anyone else. Most of us are just one bad day away from losing everything. A cancer diagnosis. A lawsuit. A fire. Despite my brief stint as a claims adjuster, I have no renters insurance or health insurance. The holes in the social safety net are so big I fell straight through them. My parents are dead and my siblings might as well live on the moon—I'm on my own. My thoughts keep rambling as I sit in my hatchback. I'm a goddamn mess.