Nebulous: A Six Sentence Story

The dream came every night, without fail, and some nights, she would wake up suddenly from it and remember almost every detail, while other nights, the dream was nebulous, and the more she tried to remember what happened, the more it was like trying to catch smoke in her hands.

There were nights when she would try to wish the dream away, but it came anyway, dancing into her sleep, frightening her with its realism, and she would wake up, trembling, her throat dry from trying to call out as she dreamt, and she would lie still until the shapes of the night became the ordinary things in her room, and she knew she was safe.

The worst nights were when the dream was not realistic at all but was just shadows and fog  that swirled about until she was able to pull herself out of their grasp, and she would scramble from her bed and pace the floor until she could convince herself that it was just a dream.

She had begun fearing the night, because she knew the dream would come, and then she began fearing the day, because she felt as though the dream were watching her somehow.

Her skin grew sallow, her eyes hollow, her hair dry and unkempt, and her very being got smaller and smaller as the dream grew larger and larger, until one night, she quit fighting. Instead of trying to push the dream away, she rose to meet it, the dream taking her thin hand and pulling her upwards until she was nothing more than a wisp of mist, and then she was gone.

Linking up with Denise at Girlie On The Edge's Blog for Six Sentence Stories with the prompt "nebulous."