I stare out into the empty of my back yard. I hear the wind blowing at the edges of the window as though it’s a whisper. A conversation in my mind.
I’m standing, at this hour of night, in my small kitchen because I can’t sleep.
I live alone so there’s no one to comfort me after another bad dream. Another bad dream as in the exact same dream I’ve had for months now.
It was a foggy night when things began. It was a cold damp night when I made choices that haunt me even now.
The dreams began when the note arrived. The note a haunting reminder of what transpired that night so many months before the dreams.
I stand in my kitchen counting seconds passing to keep from thinking about the dream. The dream with the scream at the end that would conclude the dream.
I woke, each time from that dream, screaming as though I had just relived a moment so frightening that it haunts my dreams and it haunts my every waking hour.
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