Hey, let’s start the new year off right with a horror story. *g* This week’s story draws on my background as a former member of a low-rent rock band. Have a look.
Published by Thunder Valley Press
Copyright 2010 by Annie Reed
The first time Shelly knew she dreamed in technicolor was when she saw her own blood splatter across a rough brick wall. The blood was deep maroon, each drop as big as her thumb, glistening and wet and oh so much of it.
Too much to lose and survive, even for her.
Maroon blood. Grey brick. The stone cold certainty that she was about to die. Over the years the nightmare had become familiar, if not welcome. At least she no longer woke up screaming.
When Collin touched her shoulder to wake her, Shelly sat bolt upright with her hands to her chest, heart pounding. Tonight the dream had been so real. More than any other night? She didn’t know, but she thought so. She half-expected her fingers to smear her tee-shirt with that dark maroon red.
“You had the dream again,” Collin said. It wasn’t a question. He had been with her too long. He knew her too well.
Collin brushed Shelly’s hair away from her forehead, leaned in and pressed his lips lightly against her pale skin. Collin was good to her, watched out for her, but he couldn’t understand. He didn’t dream.
“We’ve got a gig tonight,” Collin said. “You gonna be okay with that?”
Thigh-high boots, leather skirt and a baby-doll, all in black. Her stage costume. So different from the faded, oversized, Reality Bites tee-shirt she wore when she slept. Shelly tried to remember if she had been wearing the costume in her dream, but the details were elusive. Rough grey walls, dank, musty dirt under her feet, the heavy pounding tread of something chasing her — that’s all she remembered.
That, and the taste of dying. The dying part had been very clear.