Trillion inheritance starts from nightmare
Three fifteen in the morning.
I sat up from the blood-red dream. The pajamas on my back were soaked and stuck to my spine, which was bone-chilling cold.
My left wrist is burning.
I lower my head.
The ink mark of the clock is crawling under the skin, and the hour hand jumps forward one step. The burning pain was not a fire, but more like someone taking a red-hot needle tip and piercing it along the blood vessels into the bone marrow.
The image in the dream is still dancing behind my eyes - an international flight, with the blue and white airline logo painted on the fuselage, suddenly disintegrated at high altitude. The wings broke first, then the fuselage, like biscuits broken open by a giant. Debris, luggage, and human bodies were scattered in the gray-white clouds.
