It came like a Normandy brume and stuck. Sometimes she heard Harry’s foghorn voice, shushed as though by waves slurring over sand. His concern made her cry.
Why it was called the black dog she didn’t know. It was light without sight, like being drunk in the daylight without her glasses.
Sick of herself, she turned to YouTube for inspiration, a terrible mistake. The #1 song on the uplifting playlist made her heave and weep until dehydrated.
Propelled by wind, assaulted by switches of yellow, and struck by space, she walked until night settled her dreaded daylight terrors. Soon, sleep.