Dreamlike temptations

The clock read 1:03. His gasping was the only sound that could be heard, for everything seemed at peace at this very wee hour of the morning. He sat on his bed…his night clothes soaked with cold sweat; his palms were moist. The dream was too vivid that his mind replayed it over and over again.

The reality of the dream was too tangible for imagination.

* * *

There he was, holding hands with a seemingly-innocent girl. He felt something else…something utterly indescribable that made him feel as though he was doing wrong, that he was offending someone. It was an uneasy feeling, and he wanted to tell the girl about it, but he couldn’t muster enough strength to do it.

He didn’t want to be branded a coward.

“Let’s do it…” The girl motioned him to come inside a room. She clutched his hands, now cold and sweaty; she had this power to command him to do everything she wanted him to, and though he hated it, he couldn’t do much but give in.

They spent a hour and a half inside the room, and when they went out,  the girl, satisfied, said something that made his spine tingle, his heart beat a hundred times faster, and his conscience troubled.

“I didn’t take any pills.”

* * *

But dreams remain in that wide expanse of thinking. He felt like going back to sleep—he has a seven o’clock class later. What made him sleep was the fact that the Lord might never allow this to happen. His restraining hand is a testimony of His wondrous mercy that is renewed day after day after day.

When he woke up, it was already 8:34.



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