A three-headed ice-cream cone with fangs broke the idyllic forest scene with its rabid, creamy roar, and Figgy jolted awake.
Something was wrong; she had handpicked the dream off the assembly line. A good dream, relaxing.
She checked the conveyor belt. The clear, iridescent dreams flowed past as usual.
The dream bulged, swirling with the inky taint of nightmare. Three more like it fell into the delivery sacs.
She glanced up. Somehow, the nightmares had backed up and begun dribbling down on the glittering dreams.
Figgy winced and hit the emergency stop button.
She was so fired.
Author’s Note: Do you ever wonder where those really bizarre dreams come from?