A bad dream

Scully fumbled for the alarm clock by the side of her bed, only half awake. The morning sun shone in through the window of her apartment. Her fingers found the snooze button, and she sat up, her red hair disheveled, one strap of her peach-coloured nightgown falling off her creamy shoulder.

Morning already. Time to go to work.

Casting off the bedsheets and stumbling towards the shower, she tried to concentrate on the day ahead, but she couldn't stop thinking about the dream she'd just woke up from. It was slipping away from her now, in the light of day. She could only recollect fragments of it. But it had all seemed so terribly real. Back at the FBI academy, her first day of class, and somehow she'd forgotten to wear any...

Well, it wasn't important. She was probably just stressed. Anyway, there was no scientific evidence to suggest that dreams were meaningful, no matter what Mulder said. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel, mentally preparing herself to greet the day.