It was Morse code that awoke the dreamer. A pleasant dream it was too, no screamer.
Of reading a book by candle light in an old shanty shack. A babbling brook outside and silent crickets chirping, back to back – for all dreams are soundproof you know – to this wisdom there’s no lack.
The flagging signals continued as the whole room twirled, like disco balls in a hurricane, like sunlight through the leaves of swaying plantain.
Was the flickering code the fruits of his lullaby pillow, if so where did reality go.
Or, was reality kitty Malestrom who had scampered up the bedroom lamp during the thunderstorm. Gripping the light bulb, he steadied himself with synchronized squirms, which in turn, turned the bulb on and of and on again flashing its surrender terms.
But perhaps, the dreamer still dreams, for he has no cat. And Malestrom was a character in the book in the… other dream, he dreamed until maybe, it was not.