December 1952, by Earle Brown

I woke up, middle of the night to the roar of what I knew was a supernova—I could feel the heat in my head, lurching beyond my dreams into my skull. A flash of light struck me and elevated me. That is, until I sat up straight and came to, and found myself within another dream. The explosion had slowed down to a halt, a ball of fire, like a miniature sun, floating in front of me at the foot of the bed. My eyes watered. Outside, a snowstorm was on pause too—snowflakes hung in the air, glittering against streetlights. I stood up erect on my bed so that my head almost touched the ceiling. My gaze was locked onto the static orb, which continued to growl, as if straining to contain all its energy within its bounds. I wondered if anyone else was home; an odd thought, considering I lived alone. I felt an urge to check the time, but I could not peel my eyes away. Another flash.

I am in the middle of the road outside my house. Snow falls gently but persistently. I wear my winter coat and a fur hat and gloves. I have been walking down this road for many hours. I pass by my house every twenty minutes or so, even though I have been walking in the same direction. I cannot feel my feet. It is still nighttime, and some of the streetlights have stopped working, or flicker from time to time. There are no stoplights anywhere. I see neighbors in the windows, their silhouettes demarcated by the yellow lights in living rooms and bedrooms. They watch me with invisible judgment. You are one of them, though I cannot tell which one. I am walking towards the light I cannot see. I remember an explosion. The death of a star. It is not snow that is falling, but the ashes of the sun. Is this real? I think. A dream, a dream. A dream within a dream, within a dream, within the dream of a star within the dream of a dying man, a dream’s dream…I walk on and on, until the photons have decayed, and my body made into dust by the breeze.

My alarm sounded now, 7AM. I sat up and looked outside. The sky was clear, and the sun had already began melting the fresh snowfall. The morning was sweet and young, and I drank my coffee with thanks in my heart and a song in the air, and as I walked out to my car, I knew I had died last night, like every other night, and that today and every day was a new heaven, for me and not for you.