Vertical zig-zag, eyes rustling, traveling upward, levitating to the ceiling.
The dream catcher does her no good. No dreams are intercepted, no dreams are recollected and assembled, forever lost in the ether. No making sense of the fragments of her ailed mind. "I wish I had something to drown my thoughts in," she thinks. She remembers saying something like "**** this endless, dragging, churning night," lingering on every syllable, as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing happens. As always.
But there is a faint sound, the sound of a siren, wailing up and down her street outside. Her pupils expand, like the tide on the shore
Suddenly the ringing voice of a mouth long gone snuffs away beside her, and the last piece of someone left the room at that very moment.

Was there a point to this story?
Maybe?
Probably not.