'Have you noticed there is never any third act of a nightmare? They bring you to a climax of terror and then leave you there. They are the work of poor dramatists.'

- Max Beerbohm, 1872-1956

I was running. I was running harder than I've ever run before, my chest felt like it was about burst into flames, and my throat was so raw it felt like it was bleeding. My arms and legs were pumping hard, although there was barely any breath to fuel them with: anaerobic respiration. I was going to pay for this in the morning. If I reached the morning. But, just incase I didn't I was already paying for it now. My muscles felt like they had been pounded at with a meat tenderiser, there was so much blood rushing round my body that it was showing through the brown of my skin. I knew, without trying, that if I stopped, I'd collapse and be sick, that my heart and head would explode simultaneously, so I carried on. Not that I'd have stopped anyway: the nightmare creature pounding behind me was enough to ensure that all on it's own. But still, there was no escaping the fact that, for all that running, and all that pain, I wasn't going anywhere. I was just doomed to stay running on that same spot, running, for the rest of forever.

I jolted awake, sweat dripping down my arms, legs and back. The breath was coming out of me hard fast and ragged, and the sheets were tangled around me. Didn't take a rocket scientist to realise that I had been acting out my dream, again. It was becoming a habit, and I was becoming sick of it.

I disentangled myself from the sheets and got out new nightclothes. As I changed, I checked the time on the clock. five: thirty. No point going back to bed, the sheets were all wet and disgusting, by the time I got them changed it would be six, and on the off chance that I could get to sleep then, it would mean I'd only feel like complete crap when I woke up. Not that I didn't feel like complete crap already, I just didn't need the feeling exacerbated.

I sighed, and chose a book from the shelf, something that would calm my rapidly-beating heart right down. 'What Katy Did Next', that's a good one. Another sigh escaped my lips, as I opened the book. Today was going to be a killer, I could just tell.

For one thing, I had double science, and I felt like the walking dead, except worse.

I sigh, again, and try to focus on the book in my hands.