I got to the early morning meeting late, weighed down by something that I didn't realise I had on. The blinds were closed, and for a second I thought no-one was sitting at the large oval desk.
"You're overdressed." My boss growled from behind his jumbo latte. "This is accounts, not the court of Camelot."
I looked down. I wasn't wearing any clothes. Embarrassed, I hid myself behind my suitcase, which was covered in a strange kind of fabric: smooth to the touch and black. From the shadows of the conference room, I could see my coworkers were grinning at me, with sharp, dagger like teeth. My boss handed me a scalpel with a black handle. I looked at my face in the gleaming reflection of the blade, and almost wretched.
I was terrified. I started cutting, and screaming.
I woke up dripping with sweat and blood.
"Bad dream again?" My wife gurgled.
"My body was covered in this oily stuff. It's too disgusting to describe..." I replied, trailing off. I had felt terribly claustrophobic in the dream, hot and tight.
I kissed Agatha's cheek muscle as her eyes rolled back up to the peeling paint on the ceiling, back into unconsciousness. I slowly made my way into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, moisturised my eyeballs, and slurped into a suit. My nerves and tendons ached as I walked to work. As I massaged my stomach and kidneys, I decided to skip breakfast.