Silent Night

silent-night

Out of a kind of smoke that dreams seem to conjure, the invisible kind that blurs people’s faces and names of places, I recall an incident, told by Grandmother. Told so many times, that I can almost remember myself. When one cold silent night, still bundled tight in a pink cotton blanket, I cried out and woke my sleeping family.

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In My Dreams, I’m Dying All The Time

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…