Page 200 - Anonymous

through my hair. I slowly give in and

close my eyes. The words from the poem

drift away as I enjoy my wash and head

massage.

The dreams are always the same,

I'm walking down a darkened corridor.

No running down it, my feet slamming

against the tiles. There are doors on

either side of the passage, but there aren't

any handles. I try to push my upper arm

against one, and it doesn't budge. There