Some mornings...

It had never been such a struggle to get out of bed. The blankets felt like lead, the most comforting, warm lead that ever weighed heavy on anybody.

It’s not worth it, Gerd decided. She rolled over, hit at the alarm clock with as much desperation and motor control as a fish flung up on a dock. The alarm’s tinny beeping stopped, but the harm had been done.

Now awake, Gerd had to pee.

She headed for the bathroom, groggy and stumbling, but fortunately alert enough to stop before tumbling off the edge of the chasm in her hallway. Her toes curled over the edge, and she overbalanced backwards, sat down hard on the carpet.

The bathroom was nowhere in sight. The hallway ended, dropped off into the darkness.

Gerd began to think that maybe wetting the bed wasn’t such a shameful thing, really. Pee on the sheets, wad them up, wash them in the morning – but the clean sheets were in the cabinet beside the bathroom, at the end of the hallway that didn’t seem to exist anymore.

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