Tony Maxx gave a scream and jerked in the bed, coming awake suddenly, breathing hard and blinking in the darkness. He sat up and ran a hand over his face and through his black hair, feeling confused at first, then settling back into reality. A flicker of lightning came outside, briefly illuminating the small bedroom he was in, and a rumble of thunder followed after it, hard and loud enough to rattle the trailer’s cheap window. A thunderstorm, yes…but not the one from October, not the one he’d been dreaming of. It was April now. It was April and he was alone in his room and there was no owl outside, just the rain. Taco, his roommate, opened the door. He was a heavyset guy, Hispanic—thus the nickname—with large dark eyes and a round face, full mouth, tanned skin. He filled up the little doorway as he peeked in, light from the outside hall coming into the room. He had a cigarette in one hand, and Tony realized he wanted one very badly. "You okay, man?" "Yeah…yeah, bad dream. Sorry if I woke you." Tony fumbled for the pack on the table by his bed, found it, but couldn’t locate the lighter. Taco shrugged his big shoulders. "Nah, it’s okay, you didn’t. You wanna talk about it?" "No," he said quickly, laying his hand on the plastic of a Bic and snapping it alight. His roommate raised his eyebrows. "Okay…" He shut the door quietly and went back into the living room, probably to try to beat Tony’s score on the video game, the bastard. Tony put the flame to the end of his cigarette and took a long, menthol drag. Thank you, God of Nicotine, for your many blessings upon this most undeserving and wretched mortal… After a few more puffs and a few more minutes of safe reality, he was calmer and the dream was farther away. He sighed beneath the sound of the rain on the roof and the windowpane, and as the lightning flashed again, he stubbed out the cigarette in his ashtray. He slid back on the bed, and looked at the ceiling. "Damn you, Sarah," he whispered, and then rolled over, trying to go back to sleep.