The Nightmare

In her dream she was with him again.

They were back in the old house. The nightmare house she secretly called it.

Arguing. Senseless arguing. Arguing about a topic.

What topic?

The blue front door with brass doorknob. If she could just reach it—just pull it open—

Heart racing.

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her backward, back into the nightmare house, back into the nightmare.

Nightmare.

Could this be? Yes. It must be. If he was here this must be a nightmare. He shouldn’t be here anymore.

He was going to kill her this time, she knew. She could sense the fate that she couldn’t avoid creeping up on her like the shadow of a cloud passing across the sun. Did it matter if it was only a nightmare?

Wake up. Wake up. Please wake up.

Wait. What had she learned?

Sit with the discomfort. That was the phrase. Learn to sit with the discomfort. Stop avoiding pain.

Deep breath.

Blinding light.

The dreamscape around her transformed. Where there was darkness, now there was light. Though no door had opened she found herself outside on the familiar sidewalk. The sky an unnatural deep blue. The atmosphere comfortingly hazy like the mist of a just-ended summer rain.

He was still there, but he was no longer a threat. Back turned. He walked away from her down the sidewalk.

It was so beautiful she cried.

(C) 2021 Barbara Gray – no content may be used or reproduced without permission of the author

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