I don’t remember Harmony’s funeral. Wait, I lie. I do remember some things. Like the plain room, the color of churned butter. The metal chairs with carpeted seats. All aligned facing the open casket. The slow stream of weeping people, that treaded down the center. Reluctantly out of obligation, respect or whatever, to stare into her empty face. A mask. But this is every funeral. I wondered how many people were genuine. I tried to look into their eyes, but I was the one who looked away. I was her favorite and I didn’t feel a thing.

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A series of flash dreams. (Some of the ideas to these stories are given to me by my FB friends.)

In my dreams, I’m dying all the time. There is something chasing after me. I can feel its hot breath behind me. I turn but there is only the night forest and fog. I run without knowing where. Every direction are identical. The wall of trees closes in on me. The forest becomes thicker. Thicker and tighter until they are actual walls. My shoulders graze against the forest wallpaper as I run. There are no doors. There are no windows. Only darkness in front and the thing coming after me. The hall becomes increasingly narrow and the ceiling shorter until I am forced to crawl on my knees. The thing behind me growls and gnashes its teeth. I wedge into the tight hallway, now a tunnel, hoping the thing can’t get me. Hoping that it won’t fit. I wait.  Continue…