Eve’s “rest” was fitful. Her brain fought against her body’s refusal to move. Images flashed against closed eyelids of her two drawer filing cabinet splitting in two while a miniature tornado spun up from the center of it.

She sat cross legged before it, the wind whipping her hair around her face as she concentrated on the lyrics coming from the storm.

Watch where you spit
I’d advise you wait until it’s over

The thought flitted through her subconscious why in the world was Alice in Chains playing in the middle of a tornado in her broken filing cabinet. But dreams weren’t supposed to make sense.

Down, down, down you’re rollin’
Watch the blood float in the muddy sewer
Take another hit
And bury your brother

Something from her conscious mind tugged at her with the last lyric. Pushing herself from the floor, fighting against the storm, she made her way back to the bed and got back under the covers.

She awoke with a yelp, finishing the song breathlessly, “And we die young.“