Three days had passed since Allen came back to class. So far, the dude had behaved himself, studying and going out early. I did not bother myself to try to know what he was up to. After class, I would drop by the clinic to check up on my friend, hoping that he had regained consciousness but there was still no sign of him waking up. The only sign
I had was when his finger flinched when I was telling him about my nightmare.
Fortunately, I did not have the same nightmare again. Only dreams that I would, later on, forget after waking up, and I don't get myself worked up over petty dreams I had.
I just think of my bitter and scary dreams today as nothing. The only dream that I could not forget was the nightmare, which would make me sweat every time I recall it.
Every now and then, I would be reminded of my mom's position on the floor, covered in her own blood with her slit throat, and wounded body.
