The nightmare was always the same. Paralyzed and cold, she hung from the edge of a cliff. Fear would be swept away when eventually she would realize her dreadful fate. Unable to pull herself up, a shadowy figure would come. Hope would leave a bitter taste in her mouth when the figure would stand on her hands, squishing her fingers until she fell. And fell. And fell.
She woke up in her bed. The immense pressure on her chest prevented her from moving. Terrified that the nightmare might snatch her back into darkness Prairie did not dare to close her eyes. With a few whimpering breaths she attempted to find reassurance in the familiar moonlit shapes of her surroundings. Close to the window stood an easel her mother had installed arguing that inspiration could strike in the middle of the night. A large antic dresser could be seen standing not too far from the feet of her bed. A little mountain of books towered above her bedside table.
When her breathing had returned to normal, Prairie managed to sit. Resigned and shaken, she realized that her nightmares had won. Wearing a black and purple checkered onesie her mother had sowed, the teenager got out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. Once a cup of camomile tea was fuming Prairie took it and quietly traveled outside. The humid summer breeze barely soothed her as she sat on one of the large porch benches.