I had a nightmare I woke up from. At least, I think I woke up from it, but when I think about it, parts of my reality flash into a transient, dissociative, ethereal fog, which latches onto my eyes, like cobweb strands so thin I can never swat them away. 

Shoved into my face was a normal day. Placed onto a field were a couple seats. Sitting on them were a couple nameless faceless ageless strangers.  

There was a piano, tanky and glossy black. My piano teacher and I sat in front of it on a war-torn leather bench. There were no commands required; we performed a simple duet. Staccato notes shot through, flying alongside creamy sun rays, dulled only by the hazy daze-y day. 

I played the last note with a heavy heart, and a heavier arm. It rattled like a death knell. 

My piano teacher stared at the last page of the sheet music. Then he turned it over. He continued to look ahead as he ground his vocal cords together. “Your life is over. Everything is done. You did great. Good job.” 

I knew why. Trenches dumped with parents past had come to this. I did not understand what would happen next. But at that moment, I knew why what happened, happened. A shower of shouts and celebrations. Millions spawned to witness me. 

I was afraid but ready. Then I woke up, knowing what happened in my dream but not why.