Thunder crushed Aurora to the ground. Gasping for air, sweating, her chest palpitating, she woke with a jolt. It was dark in the bedroom as she caught her breath. A bus rolled past her flat, shaking the building, agitating her further. She turned to look at the clock, familiarity bringing some relief to her wrecked mind. 3.53am. Was it a dream or a nightmare? She felt defeated, deflated, but there was a certain sweetness to the thunder-clap slamming her down so suddenly. Aurora got up, unsure if she wanted to return to that disturbed sleep. She stumbled in the dark, her arms outstretched to find her way to the bathroom, the darkness comforting. Returning to bed, she relaxed, unable to remember anything of her mental ordeal. Soon she fell into a warm, comfortable sleep. A dark blue haze obscuring her sight. Standing in a crowded space, bodies she can’t see jostling her. Pushing, shoving. The smell of stale sweat arouses her. Miasmatic memories. Lights brightening in front of her, bringing the stage into view. The dark blue haze fazing shifting into electric blue as movement stirs the wispy smoke in front of her. She stands in front of a stage. His voice, enveloping her in surround sound: deep and velvety, like warm aromatherapy oil on skin. The voice from her past, a forgotten life, a buried life. Unable to see him on stage, her memories tugging, dredging, tying her in knots until she feels him, pulling every past feeling and emotion out of her into this time and space. She reaches out to him, just as she had done at those concerts years ago. Arms reaching, desperate to grab a hand, a finger, a splash of sweat. A lilting melody plays, yanking at her memory. The musical staves like rope entangling her psyche. A lesser-known time. And then the earthquake-inducing crash of drums, electric guitar and bass rip through her. She’s jostled as she tries to jump up and down to the rhythmic drums and violating bass. Her favourite band on stage. And then she sees Oliver, as he was when she was 17. Violently jostled, she tries to push back but feels herself overpowered by the crowd she cannot see. She hears herself scream ‘Morpheme!’ her voice drowned by the music and roaring crowd. She feels her chest tightening, just as the lights switch from blue to bright white, illuminating the band. Now she is screaming out for help, struggling against the crowd. It wants to hold her back, to control her. The music changes to a softer melody. Oliver walks to the front of the stage, looking directly at Aurora, singing, crooning in a way she can’t recall. No, this is different—this isn’t their music. She’s confused and finding it hard to breathe. Oliver stands tall, dark and grave: short black hair, big blue eyes, angular jaw set in quiet anger. He stops singing and lifts his arms towards her. Come to me. She struggles against the crowd. Someone holds her back. An elbow in the face, a slap in the back of her head, a punch in the ribs. She is encased in a mass of hard angry muscle. Oliver calls her name. Doing so releases her from the horrible weight of angry flesh. She rises into the air, away from the crowd, as if she is floating free from her body. The brightness of the stage hurts her eyes, but she seeks out Oliver, willing herself to him. He opens his arms wide. Lyrics of a distant song fill her mind. She starts crying as those remembered emotions fill her completely, replacing the last of her will. She is only a metre from him. His arms open to her, singing to her, when she falls hard onto the stage, banging her head and losing consciousness. Aurora jolted out of sleep again, but this time she remembered the dream: the blue, the warmth of Oliver’s voice in contrast to the violence and pain she experienced, and a real fear left her exhausted. The morning light was penetrating her bedroom. She stared at the ceiling as memories of her teenage years ran riot: music, concerts, friends, fights, anger, Harry, and an impetuous need to claim her existence in a world created by others. And now? She still felt the world was a place created by others, that she had no real choices or power to make it her own. The alarm screamed at her. She slapped it shut and got out of bed.