This morning, I woke up in a bowl of Cheerios. Little round ‘O’s strangling my fingers and toes. Weaving through my hair. On the tip of my nose. I dunked myself in milk, but they stuck to me like honey. “Help,” I yelled from the giant white bowl. “You’re dreaming!” said my husband, but when I stepped out of bed my foot crushed something symmetrical. “Oh no,” I said. My mouth formed two ‘O’s when I said it. I covered them with my palms. My husband said he was going for donuts and I screamed. “You okay?” he said. I wanted to say no, but I couldn’t. “Yes,” I said. I got ready for work and left. On the bus, there was a woman with gold rings stacked to the nail on each finger. They were sinister. Like snakes. They hissed at me, casting spells. Words that made no sense in a sentence: “woe, crow, below. Onomatopoeia!” I ran off the bus three stops before mine. When I got to work, I was soaked in sweat, but cold. I turned on my computer. Typed words. All I saw was ooooo. Then OOOOO. The ‘O’s kept multiplying, even after I stopped typing. Page after page until I saw nothing else. They got bigger and bigger. Became one giant ‘O’ that gobbled up the rest. A massive white circle. I watched it spin everything into nothing. I waited. For it to consume me, erase me, paralyzed in fear. Nothing happened, but I kept waiting. I waited so long I got bored. And then I yawned.