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Now available for .99 cents - a tale of passion and revenge, foretold in a dream. Available on Amazon.
She'd been so long without rest that sleep captured her as soon as she closed her eyes. At first, her slumber was the emptiness of exhaustion, void of imagery or sound. Before long, disconnected images began to appear, fragmented and confused. She saw her father in the field, before his illness—a brief glimpse of Robby and Jim wrestling in the yard—she heard her mother laugh.
Then her dream became hollow and barren. Her chest ached with longing, and an emptiness she had never known before filled her heart. In the distance rode a lone figure—the sound of hoof beats on a dirt road—a discordant tune played on a ragtime piano. An angry man stood before her, tall and strong, with light colored hair. Then he was above her. His blue-gray eyes looked into hers with a passion so strong and real, she felt her body respond.
“Let me touch you.” His voice was warm and close. She raised her hand to brush back the hair from his face. At her touch, he turned his head and kissed her palm, then disappeared. In his place, she saw a silver star, and heard the sound of gunfire and cries of fear. A deep sense of foreboding filled her chest and clenched her lungs until she gasped for breath.
She blinked her eyes and found herself sitting in bed. Her heart thundered in her chest. Looking down, she saw a glimmer of moonlight reflect in the blood on her hands. Am I still asleep? She heard the cry of a child in the distance.
She struggled from her bed with a gasp and stood shivering in her small room. The putrid smell of illness and death assured her the dream had fled. Around her, the empty house stood silent. Even the ever-present Nebraska wind had ceased to blow. She found the edge of her bed in the dark, lowered herself to the mattress and pulled the blanket over her shoulders. She hung her head in the night and thought about blue-gray eyes.
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Connie (C. Marie) Bowen