There was a stark bedroom.  The lighting was dim, the walls were brownish. It was like a dorm room.  I was floating above the bed, hovering, and my door opened so I fell from being startled.  Then, I started to rise again.  I was hovering just below the ceiling when my door opened and my dad poked his head in.  ‘You shouldn’t sleep on the ceiling,’ he said.  ‘Why not” I asked, and he said, “You might fall if somebody wakes you up.”  I decided to hover slightly above the bed.

 

Flying
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Author Erii

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