When the pillow threatens to suffocate you, do you excavate your head with a heart-rattling gasp? Or is the terror so great that you can do nothing more than stare into the depth of montages dividing sleep and death?
Fred surveyed the landscaping disaster. The xenobiologists had assured him that his prized Zephirine Drouhin roses would be left alone to grow for two years.
Swan Vee considered her options. The ink was barely dry on the sheepskin before her mentor banished her from Swamp Logos. Her home since birth, the swamp represented the womb of familiarity, the hearth of confidence and the shield against the unknown.