The gurgling of the brook held me in a trance.  Similar to a bug zapper attracting mosquitos and moths.  It drew me closer and with each step the moist earth sunk a little further.  Until I had to wrench my full foot out of the muck in order to move.  I trudged on, completely hypnotized by the sound of the rushing water.  The swampy earth oozing up between my toes and enveloping my leg up to my shin.  The weight and suction of the muck, along with my fatigue, is slowing me down.  I am making painstaking progress; each step feels as if an eternity has passed by.  

I labored on, suddenly tasting wet earth in my mouth.  Coughing, desperately trying to expel the mud before it reaches my lungs.  I suck in, hoping to feel the cool, evening air.  Instead soaked, stagnant earth fills the capacity of my mouth.  My brain finds a need to function, my lungs are starting to ache from a lack of oxygen.  I thrust a hand straight up hoping to feel nothing, but only find mud. 

In a desperate attempt to rip myself from the mixture of earth and water, I press both hands down.  Hoping for something solid, something sharp scrapes across my right hand.  I grab onto it, and use it to locate a second object above it and begin to pull myself up.  There are two more objects jutting out above the second, and I use them to thrust my head free of the muddy water. 

I spit out mouthful after mouthful of black mud.  Finally, I feel the cool, but painful, passage of the evening air rush into my lungs.  My hand rests on something that resembles the trunk of a tree.  I try to clean the muck from my eye, but only succeed in making it hurt.  My eye is now stinging and my chest is still heaving in pain.  I reach around the trunk to determine its dimensions.  It leaves the water with a slight accent and my brain accepts this as a ramp to safety.  I wrap my left hand around the trunk and take a firm hold on a branch a few feet above me.  Struggling to pull the rest of my body out of the semi-liquid death trap, I reach up with my right hand and begin to think that I am fine.  A sharp pain from my hand jolts me back to reality. 

I slowly open my covered right eye, to see black and red.  Two colors swirled together, it is impossible to tell where the cut is.  The pain is becoming more prominent and causes me to stop my journey upward.  I rest on a willow tree; the long branches might help to stop the bleeding.  I reach up with my left hand and drag a branch close enough for me to hold it between my teeth.  Repositioning my hand to snap the branch and place it in my mouth.  I tear a section of my shirt and wrap it around my right hand.  The willow branch is about four feet long and skinny.  I wrap the branch around my right hand and clench my teeth in response to the pain.  The taste of blood fills my mouth.  I grit my teeth harder and focus on my task.  Wrapping the thick end first and rotating it around my palm.  I place the larger end between my teeth and tie the skinny end around it.

I sigh as the flow of blood from my hand slows down, to merely a trickle.  My head pounds and I listen desperately for the sound of the spring that drew me into this mess.  I hear it behind me, and rotate my head to spot the source of my troubles.  Approximately 20 yards away from my current position, a small river about three yards across taunts me.  A group of willows form a path leading to the edge of the moving water. 
The first tree is about two yards away from me.  I see a branch in my tree that overhangs just above the trunk of that tree.  I grab hold of the branch with both hands.  Gasping in agony as my gash opens and begins to spew blood.  I grit my teeth and move my left hand in front of my right.  I slide my right hand past my left and feel drops of liquid splatter on my face.  I shake it off and move my left hand farther away from me.  I repeat the process two or three times.  My right hand gives way and I begin to fall.

There is no splash of water.  No impact of my body hitting the mucky water. The only thing I feel is blackness, and gravity dragging me down.  I close my eyes and wait for the inevitable impact, but it doesn’t come.  The sound of the wind is losing its intensity, and finally stops.  I open my eyes and find myself staring at my dog’s face. 

“Copper?  What are you doing here?  Wait, what am I doing here?”  I reach out to touch my dog.  My brain causes my arm to stop short and I stare at my right hand.  There is no gash, and my body is covered in sweat.  I sit up and find that I am in my bed and completely fine.  “It was all just a dream.  It seems some dreams are real enough to keep you stuck in them.”  I whispered into the cool, morning silence.