Dreams. I am walking out of a house. The door I walk out of, is in the back of the house. The house itself sits elevated, as if on a small hill, sloping down to the front of the house. Its an older home. White. Not terribly tall in the back, I can see the gutters are just above my head. I note I could reach up and touch them if I wanted to. I say my goodbyes as I walk through the old screen door. Its the metal kind, cold and grey, with a push button on the front handle that you would use to open it. The kind that makes a pssshhhh sound as the air compresses in the closer to prevent it from slamming shut. The ground below my feet is wet. It is one of those fall days, when its not exactly raining, it is a light mist that hangs in the cold air. Its depressing. I step outside, laughing with whoever is inside, they are giving me grief about not eating some sugar laced dessert. I feel happy at this moment. Spending time with them, it has made me content. I have a plastic grocery bag dangling from my right forearm that is smacking against my leg with every other step as I make the walk to my car. As I round the corner of the house, I catch the heel of my boot on a small slab of concrete that is not flush with the one in front of it. It is a slight stumble, easy to recover from, there will be no muddy knees, or dropped leftovers today. Instinctively, I look up to see if anyone has had a front row seat to my clumsiness. I see him there, 40 feet in front of me, lessening the gap between us with every pound of his work boots on the ancient sidewalk. He has on dark glasses, and his hair is just a bit longer. Hes wearing a grey short sleeved t-shirt. Its red lettering makes me think of the Ohio State Buckeyes logo. That doesnt make sense, hes a West Virginia fan. His lips are pressed tightly together. I know he is agitated. I am completely frozen. I scream but nothing happens. I know I should run. Run dammit. He takes two more steps. I watch as his left hand comes up and meet his right. Just in front of him. I see the barrel of a familiar 9mm. His left hand pulls the hammer back as he is leveling the weapon to me. If it wasnt so sinister, it could almost be considered graceful.
Posted on: Fri, 28 Nov 2014 10:55:43 +0000
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