Inked Pulp, by Jonathan A. Watson

I dreamt I met the late Nick Joaquin. We were floating in darkness black as ink. Unseen thunder told me that I may ask one question.

“How does one get over the blank page?” I asked, fixating my shy gaze on his nicely combed hair. “Reality sometimes lacks inspiration.”

“Imagination.” he smiled. He then faded into the darkness that disappeared as I opened my eyes.

“Interesting dream.” my friend laughed over breakfast. “Very imaginative.”

“I dreamt I met Nick Joaquin.” I later said aloud, while typing it onto my laptop during dinner. “We were floating in darkness black as ink.”