"No," she said.

It was an abrupt change - from black pre-REM sleep to this. She was sitting on a large bay windowsill, looking gloomily out the melting glass. It was raining outside; this was my old apartment on 2nd Ave., New York City. The streets below (I saw through her eyes) were empty of people. The parking spots on the street were all taken - on the far side, since tomorrow morning was street cleaning for 2nd Ave.

I'm not sure if she even knew I was there - maybe I wasn't. Maybe I was a tagalong in her mind, her miserable dream.

"No," she said again, softer than before. She turned, looked at me - through me no, at me. She heaved a heavy sigh, and brought her knees to her chin, wrapping her delicate arms around those slender knees.

I tried to go to her, she was so miserable. I wanted to help, to hug her, comfort her. But I was frozen, locked in place. I was not there. Where was I? Why wasn't I there when she was so sad? I became frantic, calling her name (what was her name?). I could hear the sound of my own voice - or was that just in my head? But she didn't react, she heard nothing.

"No, this isn't right," I thought. Is that what she meant? Was this wrong for her too?

A rumble of distant thunder rolled over the City. I hadn't seen the lightning, perhaps the storm was just coming in off the water. I looked around I seemed to be able to move that much, at least. The narrow living room was mostly bare. All of my things were gone. Her ratty couch had been brought in from the guest bedroom, and a low table that I didn't recognize. They were covered with takeout boxes, half full, decaying.

Thunder, again, closer this time. The huge window rattled slightly in its old wooden frame. A car alarm somewhere close began to go off.

Have you ever had a dream with a soundtrack? I could faintly hear the soundtrack, slow and sad, a haunting female voice singing something vague and troubling. I listened closer - yes, that was Heather Mere. Then, Slowing Room? Now Serpentine? Man, that'll really fuck you up.

A soft sob caught my ear, I turned back. She was crying now, looking out over the street. Tears silently slid down her face, accompanied by the occasional heaving sob. A small picture fell from her hand and floated slowly to the floor.

Have you ever had a dream that ended with credits?

Have you ever had a dream that ended with a dedication to your memory?