Chapter Three: A Dream Filled With Mystery

I’m in the dream again. It begins and ends the same way every time. I am inside a huge, dark space sitting in a recliner from the 21st century. The seat is made of leather and surprisingly soft to the touch. I’m wearing a Victorian-age night robe with a drooping hat. In my hands are my two favorite childhood books: How to Skin a God and Winnie the Fooh Goes AWOL. I’m wearing soft, bullsheep slippers that coze and surround my feet. Every dream begins with me screaming a profane curse to the many gods. But, the statement is soon hushed by the other being across from me: a man dressed as a tiger.

He wears a beautiful holomask of a tiger that glows a bright orange. He wears a golden tuxedo with black lines gnawing at the hems of the suit. The lines are short and jagged like a pair of teeth gnashing into the golden tuxedo. The Tiger-Man is sitting on the edge of a folding chair. He has a notepad, and the hologram eyes seem to be watching me curiously. Every time it starts like this.

The tiger is my therapist.