Some Cereal

It was in the dead of night that night. Outside, it was cool and crisp, and the crickets sung their song. My bedroom was pitch black, and the air was still and silent.

There I lay, trying to sleep in my bed, tossing and turning restlessly; in the middle of the night, somehow I couldn't sleep.

There shouldn't have been sound at this time of night... but it was in my own home. I could hear the sound of cardboard ripping and plastic crinkling loudly. Then, there was a quieter noise: some subtle... clinking? I don't really know, I don't remember. All I know is, it happened all so slowly, lasting almost two minutes until the agonizing noise stopped. Almost as if it was trying to be quiet.

Surely I was just hearing things. I lived alone in this house, after all; no one else should be here except for me. Well, I just wanted to sleep, but I went to go investigate anyway and see if I could resolve it.

There was someone in my home. A man, about my height, and of unremarkable features. He was eating a bowl of cereal. The refrigerator was open, the carton of milk was out, and there was my box of cereal sitting on the counter. With his mouth full, the guy just raised a finger to his mouth and went, "Shhh. This is just a dream. You'll wake up soon enough."

Of course, being the indescribably sleepy being that I was, I just stared at him with annoyed disbelief, and dragged my feet back to my room regardless. I quite don't remember what happened next, but I think I died because the guy shot me. There was the sound of a gunshot behind me as I ambled back to my bedroom and I collapsed onto the floor in pain.

And then, it was morning. I awoke in my bed and everything was fine and normal and I wasn't hurt.

Though, what I did find particularly disheartening was an empty bowl, with milk and cereal crumbs, sitting in my kitchen sink.

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