I don’t really remember the dream except for that I was running away and I began to stumble. The next thing I knew, I was falling and bumped my knee on the floor next to my bed. It was early morning and M, who was already awake and brushing her teeth, was surprised by the sound and ran in from the bathroom.
“Yeah,” I said dazed still holding onto the stand of the floor lamp next to our bed. I had instinctively grabbed onto the pole as I tumbled out of bed. I suppose this was an instictive act, but fortunately prevented me from hitting my head anywhere.
M started giggling. “That was quite a thud. I thought the bed broke or something.”
All I could do was shrug my shoulder, half in embarrassment, half in bewilderment. It’s been a while since I had fallen out of bed. Over forty years, I think, when I was eight or nine years old. But for whatever reason, I can still remember that dream. The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms was chasing me through the streets of a metropolitan city and then I fell off a cliff, falling onto the floor between my bed and desk.
I had heard somwhere that if you actually hit the bottom in a falling dream, you’d really die. This is probably an urban legend, but I’m not the type to test death theories. I’m a firm believer of the adage, “Better safe than sorry.” Although, admitedly, it’s not as though I could force myself to wake up in a dream. But I am glad I sorta woke up before I hit the floor.
Query: Have you ever fallen out of your bed? When was the last time you fell out of bed?