The rain outside invaded Seed's inner world, washed away the glowing landscape that had lingered on from his recent sleep. He dreamed; therefore he was made whole again, ready to face another day's corrosive dose of reality.
The mirror over the hearth, opposite the lounge door- it threw back oppressive shadows. He didn't like what he saw there in the gloomy depths of its reflection. He didn't like it at all.
So, quickly averting his face, he looked for a comforting object in the room to hold. A hairbrush perhaps? Or the novel he was currently reading?
The telephone- should he call her?
His keys- should he go outside, get in his car and drive across town to see her?
Seed sank down into the armchair beneath the mirror, opposite the door, not really seeing anything.
Outside? It could wait, he thought, but could he? Outside, the rain still played its games on the rooftops, windows and pavements; still played the slippery customer to the hilt, still played hide and seek with Seed's thoughts.
Wait? No, he could not wait. Waiting wasn't his game. Action was needed; but he remained in the armchair, tensed and ready to spring, as taut as a loaded crossbow, a frozen anticipation of violent motion, staring the door down.
'Seed, old man' said the door blandly, 'get a grip on yourself.'
Seed shut his eyes to hold onto that voice of reason and recalled the landscape of his dreams. Here there was escape, said another voice in a silkier tone: here...peace...and tranquility. He looked for a hand to guide him through the door of dreams. He could almost feel that hand - no, two hands- caressing his brow and hair. Almost, but...there was darkness. No sunlight penetrated this grove, and he was lost in a cold neck of the woods, where...
Shockingly, the door was flung open to reveal...