three
when i was little i used to have a recurring floating nightmare. i never flew exactly. what i was doing in the dream was too unpredictable and entirely out of my control to call flying. inside dream-buildings i bobbed up against the ceiling, always just out of reach from the assorted bad people who sometime were clever enough to whack at me with broom handles. but outside there were no ceilings to brace against and the painful feeling of rushing upward usually woke me up. sometimes though, there were lampposts to hold on to.