I dreamed I was a fossil in a museum case

I was embedded in a slab of rock, perfectly preserved, and the lights were too bright. I could feel every inch of my bones—fused, silent, catalogued. A kid pressed their nose to the glass and said, 'Look, Mom, it’s still breathing.' I didn’t know if that was true or just the way the air moved through the exhibit. When I woke up, my shoulder ached like I’d been lying on stone for centuries. I don’t even remember what I was dreaming about before that.