The Princess And The Pea-Green Light

I awoke last night to find myself bathed in a mysterious green light.

I've never seen algae at sea, but it was the kind of green glow that I'd expect to observe of that phenomenon. Eerie, and seemingly other-worldly. Because, obviously, something as phosphorescently mysterious as algae simply must be other-worldly in nature. The light was soft, and apart from its colour, soothing in the way it gently highlighted the edges of uneven surfaces and the rumpled material of the corner of my pillow-case.

This was it. They'd finally come for me. No more suffering or pain, just spaceships and little green men with this ridiculously soothing light.

I rolled over to look up at my window. The light came shining through so brightly now, and the God-rays streamed around the edges of my blind to create cryptic patterns of shadow upon the multitude of postcards and magazine clippings blue-tacked to my wardrobe doors.

It took me a minute to realise that this light wasn't so soothing, and, most significantly, wasn't so green either. Ultimately it came from the flood-lighting of the office car park just a fence away from my house.

I felt a moment's disappointment.

I rolled over one last time, and felt something jab into my back even as the last traces of the green light were blanked out. Cursing, I dug out what turned out to be my light-up pen (complete with green bulb), which I angrily threw as far away from me as was possible without having to remove a significant portion of any limbs from the warmth of my duvet. Dimly, I listened with grim satisfaction as it clattered against my CD rack.