I wake. I gasp. I close my eyes - I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm still here. Breathing. That bucket was a dream. My death was a dream. I'm not dead. (Am I?) (...) (Aren't I?) Of course I'm not. I exhale. My feet fall to the edges of my bed. Slowly, I raise myself to stand. My fingers tremble by the edges of my leg: I curl my hand in. My nails catch on my skin. They're sharp, pastel pink. Done for Prom Day today. The dream didn't happen. How could it have? Prom Day hasn't happened yet. I'm fine. (Didn't it happen?) (It felt so...) (Real.)