I woke up this morning feeling backward, as if I'd been traveling all night long, through galaxies and star-dusted plains. It had been a restless night, the kind where you get tangled in the blankets and punch the pillow into animal shapes.
Crawling out of bed, I dressed and jerked the curtains open. Morning light caught the standing mirror, and I stood in front of it, fluffing my hair and pinching color into my cheeks.
At first everything seemed fine--except for my hair. It was a hopeless tangle even on the best of days. I was yanking on a knot when everything changed. The walls elongated and turned this eerie shade of green. The ceiling light flickered, dimmed, then exploded in a haze of hot yellow.
I yelped and stepped sideways, stubbing my toe. That hurt, and I plopped onto the mattress, cradling my foot. My big toe was bleeding, but it was the spray of gold glitter that stopped my breath. It was raining down from the light fixture, covering me in a sticky glaze that smelled sweet, like sugar donuts.
I pawed at my nose, my mouth, gagging and spitting. Rocking to my knees, I stood on the mattress, batting at the light fixture with a pillow, finally knocking it sideways. It belched and a hot gob of glitter landed on my left cheek, burning it. I jumped off the bed, my shriek swallowed by the thick sludge in my lungs. One more muffled cry and I fell silent, drifting into unconsciousness.