I sat in my bed last night, cowered under the covers as if I were five. And then I was – five, I mean. A five year old, covered in blankets too big, frozen in her place, debilitated by her fear of the dark. It came over me like the blankets did. I looked behind me and saw nothing, in front of me, nothing. Up, only darkness. I could make out the shape of my silent cell phone on my bedside table; it was my only friend, the only thing that could shed light. As the darkness grew I realized that the room I was in was my brain. My consciousness was transported to the darkest place inside me, somewhere I like to think around my soul or my mind or whatever you’d like to call it. I was trapped there for a moment, in terror, absolute fucking terror that I would never crawl out. This is what happens. I fall down the rabbit hole, but I don’t go to wonderland, I go to the dark room that I was in last night, and then I crawl, scratch, and fight my way out of it. In the night time, I’m thrust there by who knows what monster that lives under my bed, and usually I can hear him coming, but last night it was silent and peaceful, and I was teleported.