Yet another dream, yet another sleepless night unfolds.

Claimer: Mine.

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The Predatory Wasp Unseen

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There's a sting in my neck. I reach behind and behold in my hands the largest wasp ever seen. It struggles, twisting its yellow body in my hand, turning its head to bite my thumb. I cannot shake it. The wasp jabs at my palm with a needle for a stinger. I grasp, squeeze, and stomp to no avail. It still lives. I cry to those around me, but they scream—the cowards! Can they not see I am helpless? Again, a sting in my hand and a bite to my index finger. I watch the wasp jaws open, baring teeth I cannot see, but feel. My heart and mind are frantic— pitter-patter of a nervous pulse and a flurry of useless, screaming thoughts.

But my eyes are open, heart pounding. My neck stings, my abdomen burns with the discomfort of a hard floor and too many pillows. My dear friends lie sleeping not two feet away, yet here I am, awake and sore. What a coward, I think to myself, to be afraid of a wasp that's not real—a dream.

That's all it is, I convince my mind, just a dream.

But my ears remain ever open for the slightest vibration of wings—a wasp that isn't real.

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