I was 12 when I realised I could control my dreams; it was amazing. The first thing I did was fly. A superman’s fist to the sky and I was off. I’d feel the acceleration, the wind against my face, I’d look down at my home town and dive; it was incredible.

Another ten years passed before I found out it wasn’t the norm. When I explained it, my friends looked confused, as if I was making it up, their loss I guess.

After I finished College and I started my first job, I became depressed, it wasn’t what I thought it would be. Majoring in Biology, I didn’t expect to be an office temp, copying data from one spreadsheet to another. The work was mind numbing, but what made it unbearable was my boss. He was a sweaty man, something the ice-cold air conditioning did nothing to relieve. He shouted, swore, almost spat as he barked his orders at me and the other temps. When I left work, he’d leer at me and the other girls, smiling, showing his unkempt teeth.

“See you tomorrow girls, don’t disappoint me like you did today,” he said chuckling, there was menace in his voice.

Everyone went in their separate ways, some entering vehicles, some walking towards the nearest bus stop. I got in my car and cried. Four years in University for this, to be berated by a boss who stared at me, who pushed me past my limit, for what? For fucking data entry!

I tossed and turned as I tried to sleep, his fat head laughing at me, taunting me, in my own home. I got out of bed, took some sleeping pills and a large chug of vodka. Within ten minutes, I was asleep.

In my dream, I was at work, all the desks were empty. I tried to access Excel, but the program didn’t respond. I heard footsteps approach from behind.

“Why aren’t you doing your work?” he bellowed, “You browsing Facebook? Taking my money and wasting my time?!”

There was something off, something strange. The abstract layout of the office alerted me, I was dreaming. With renewed resolve, I stood up, aware that I was conscious.

“No!” I demanded, stepping forward. My boss backed up.

“No! Not today!” I said as I poked him, he stumbled.

Without thinking I drew a punch, it moved slowly as if through treacle, it connected and he fell. I stamped on his face until blood began to disperse around his head; and I woke.

In the morning, I ate my breakfast with renewed vigor, my psyche cleansed. I turned the TV on as I dressed.

“Stuart McCall, CEO of Datatronics, was found dead in his office this morning. There were no signs of forced entry,” the news reported announced.

I dropped the bowl and stood transfixed.

“Mr McCall owed money to many local businesses, some speculate the mob, this could be a gangland hit.”

I smiled, and wondered what this meant.