It was a clear night, and I was in a steep part of a dense pine tree forest. I couldn't look very far up from the horizon, as if my neck movement had been capped. But I didn't want to look up from the horizon, because I feared slipping on the damp rocks and soil. So I looked at the ground, and I bent as I used both my hands and feet to climb up.
After a while, I saw a black house on top of the hill, where the trees cleared. I saw it at the edge of my vision, like the house in the Christina's World painting— both behind an insurmountable distance, enforced by a high horizon line with no breathing room for the sky. I had to muster up all my energy to look at it. Slowly, I could see its yellow-lit windows, which looked like flat paper cuttings against the black walls.
When I fully turned my head up, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that something dreadful was happening. I woke up.