His whole body arched with tension, gasping desperately for a breath as if it were his last, startling him awake from a deep and long sleep. A heavy dew in the air had moistened his lips, the cold rushing in to strike the back of his throat. The harsh chill filling his lungs burned, and yet, despite the shock, as if awoken by a ghost—his first rising thought was oddly positive: “wow, that was a good sleep.”

Before his brain was properly clear, allowing reality to dig its claws and to take its enforcing daily grip, his conscience just said nope: “I'm going to savor this moment,” relaxing his muscles and sinking back into his bed. There was a rare quietness in between his ears. And improbably sooner rather than later the noise and corresponding headaches and vast array of pains will start. Sometimes they were sharp and sometimes dulling the senses, the pains emotionally were relentless. Knowing all too well it is only impossible to feel like this but for the briefest of moments, he stretches his arms and says to himself, "Oh god, help me savor it."

He suddenly notices his feet restlessly shuffling between the bags and momentarily he feels a disconnection from his body. They were running on an autopilot, mindlessly in a world of their own just trying to keep themselves warm. “Oh feet, I am sorry I had forgotten youse down there below the warmth.” his conscience had said while bringing his knees to his chest. He made a mental note to throw another layer, maybe his old jacket, over his feet.. and asked himself, "how many more of these frosts until I finally meet the one in waiting; taking my legs, arms and finally my heart?"

The morning is dark and he reaches over to tap his phone center screen. The dim light of the clock says exactly 6:00 am and collapsing back over, he feels gratefulness for the good sleep. He stretched his arms again while sliding them back down into the sleeping bag. He lay there soaking up his relaxation that felt better than a moment on a sandy deserted beach was able to provide. He'd remembered the sleep had been completely undisturbed with not a dream to remember. Lately he'd had some by all accounts weird and disturbing dreams. There had not been any axe murderers or monsters, each dream's weirdness was simply defined by the people in them. People he did not believe he had lately, or with some in years even thought of, were now somehow finding their way into his dreams.

Annoyed by the dreams, he knew them to be lucid and more memorable than ordinary dreams which also for him smelt of danger and ever more betrayal. They were so lucid he’d instantly started by asking each of them, “What do you want, have you come to gloat or are you here in my dreams to intimidate.” “Is it here in my dreams you have come to show your true evil selfs?” His questions to each of them had always as if provoked the same queer smerk on their faces, “god, fuck, whatever you act as if mere juvenile,” he’d every time replied to his own line of questions.” Then, almost as if warning them: “I don’t give a damn about your betrayals. I know a time is coming—maybe after death. Not revenge, but something much worse. I once would have died to protect you, but now… I’ll feel no pity. No sorrow.”

His dreams had become waking reality, and all of them visiting in his dreams alone was a source of agitation that pissed him off immensely. So much so he would have preferred his worst recurring nightmare. It was a nightmare he thought he’d left behind during the twenty-two years overseas. But now, paralyzed in bed, a dark disfigured figure — almost alien — standing over him, hands inches from his throat, he knew no dreams should be preferable to that. And so it was no surprise when, on the third year of his return the nightmare found him again. The world had transitioned and changed but there were patterns he knew now impossible to ignore.

His thoughts and notions on dreams most would probably not understand unless they understood the question posed in a title of a book, “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep,” so it was a real relief to not remember any dreaming as we now know how that title cinematically changed.

He'd recently read the title to an article which said, Scientist-Enabled Brain Syncing which only added to his frustrations and drove him deeper into a place that just did not want to know. He summarized while flicking straight past its content, "my cerebral cortex is my biological property and permissions are not granted, anything else is inhumane, immoral and darn right wrong, so fuck off with your bullshit and leave those who betrayed or have there evil desire to betray out of my dreams.."

He swings out of his two sleeping bags and places his feet on the floor. Almost stepping into the base layer waiting at his feet. He pulls up the thin but warm underwear made from merino wool, both feet and legs at once. Reaches over to the chair for his warm hoody and slides one arm after the other, zipping up to the neck and pulling the hood over his head which already has the beany he'd slept in covering. The extra layer around the head had become his new way to be. A comfort and protection layer that seemed to dually help with screening out the madness of the world and keeping his most sensitive of heads and ears snug by there warmth.

Standing up he kicks his feet into the shoes waiting and heads straight to the bathroom to take a piss. Starts brushing his teeth in the bathroom and heads to the kitchen while scrubbing hard with his teeth cleaning sequences. He doesn't turn a light on as he always savoured the beauty and peacefulness of mornings in the dark. He grabs the kettle and fills it with enough water for exactly two cups and after placing it back on its power source he hits the knob, illuminating the room with blue from the l e d on the switch. While the kettle heats he sits for a while continuing his aggressive scrubbing of teeth before heading back to the bathroom to finish off.

Silently he gazed through the kitchen window and the faintest of light was just starting to illuminate the sky long before sunrise and high above the eastern seas horizon. After half a cup he stubs out the rollie and stood up to flicked the switch again. To tip out the second half was a ritual to him now, always preferring his coffee hot early in the morning. Rinses the cup a little and while he grabs the tea towel for drying off his tea spoon he had looked out the window and noticed under the street lights some workers are already out on the street.

He sat back down with his second coffee and rolled another smoke while thinking about the workers and how early they were preparing to start. After his morning rituals it was now 6:30 am and lately the landlord had some extensive work carried out on the front section. The inclusion of a driveway had required lots of heavy excavation vehicles; diggers and trucks etc and of course people. Late last night there were two young carpenters/shuttering chippies working late to get the roadside gutter all prepared in time for the concrete truck this morning.