This is worse than having no shirt.
My eyes open slowly. I am ready to have to close them at a seconds notice, but my pupils decrease their size. Sunshine.
I expect to sit up with my butt soaked in water, but I can actually touch the dirt. The ground isn't even damp.
This is a dream.
I finally realize it after finding that my hair has been put up in a a perfect bun.
Suddenly, something interups my thoughts. Kind of like on television when they interupt the program you're watching to bring you breaking news. I am surprised to find the new subject the supernatural storms that nearly killed me. Fun.
"There are always four," my brain tells me. Or maybe it's my conscious. Whatever. What going on now is way more important that those little details.
"There are always four," it repeats. "Now fil in the blanks: Cold, hot. Cold--"
I don't even have to put any thought into it before I somehow know the answer. It flashes before my eyes, nice and large.
"Fire," I whisper, almost silent, but then I wake up and barely escape the circle of fire that would have burned me to a crisp in my sleep.