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    I dreamt of my meemaw again, but this time it was different—different from all the countless other times she’s appeared in my dreams. This time, she said, “goodbye.” It was the first time the dream had ever ended with her saying that. Normally, my dreams of her are comforting, and repetitive, a small but welcome reprieve from the Graylands. But when the dream shifts like that, when it deviates from its familiar course, something always happens in the waking world. At least, that’s how it was before.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But this was a while ago, and since then... nothing. Nothing has changed. I still wander these cursed lands, trudging through this endless sea of gray with no end in sight. I keep moving forward, hoping for something—anything—that might signal a way out, but all I find is more of the same desolate landscape.


    I suppose the only real change is that I no longer even have the small comfort of my grandmother’s dreams to offer me respite. The one solace I had, has been taken away. Now, I don’t even get to dream. I just wake up to the same relentless, suffocating gray, without even the illusion of warmth or familiarity to keep me going. It feels like a final severing of something I hadn’t realized I’d been holding on to. That “goodbye” feels more horrible than it should have been.