Later, Sluggo awakened from a restless sleep, filled with shadowy images and strange beasts, unidentifiable, lurking around just this or that corner, waiting to pounce.
He sat up in bed, looking down at the silver slats created by his mini blinds and the full moon outside conspired together. He wiped a hand across his damp face, wondering what it was that had awakened him so abruptly.
Then he heard it.
Gong.
The sound was familiar but seemed to have no place in this restless landscape.
Gong. That chiming again.
And then Sluggo recognized the sound for what it was. He lay cautiously back down, thinking the noise had to be a fragment of dream lingering just past wakefulness. If there was such a thing as “lucid dreaming,” then perhaps dream images, aural or not, could be a little slower
