At night, while the washing machine spins our soiled clothes, it moans like a haunted whale song. Notes echo through the dark rooms, tempting us to a depth we’ve never met before. Slipping away beneath the waves of sleep, the songs carry us until we’re resting on the backs of giants hidden at the bottom of the sea. Their skin, like velvet, holds us against the undulating weight of the water trying to carry us on.
“You aren’t meant to stay”
The giants drop us, sending our bodies down into the darkness. We fall forever, deeper and darker than we knew possible, before landing in beds of sand. Small creatures, keepers of this new darkness, prickle our fingers and toes. The sand curls into the folds of our skin and dances through our hair. The itching is infuriating but the darkness is heavy. It sits on our chests like a bully on the playground, pummeling our faces with meaty hands.
Suddenly, light, a small beam reflecting from a hook strung down by a fishing line. It roots in the darkness, searching for the target, before finding the fabric of my gown. More hooks descend, each carefully hooking our linen night clothes and pulling us away from the sand. We ascend, past the giants, towards the light. Our previous fears fall away with each grain of sand taken by the tide. Anxiously we await the chance to truly breathe.
Breaking the surface we are met with nothing but fishing boats rowing away.
Jada had no idea why it was the kettle. Surely it wasn’t always. How many childhood stories were there about tea kettles being possessed?
She couldn’t resist the designs. It begged to be taken home.
Such a tea slut.
The walls rumbled. In front of her individual scales twitched and flapped. A beast of terrifying size draped over her furniture.
Jada knew the beast couldn’t be real. Yet here it was, half chasing something in its sleep; its forked tongue hanging from between scaly lips. Its serrated claws curled as it feigned trotting through a field playfully tossing its massive head.
And probably a corpse.
A feeling of panic rested low in her belly. Jada’s legs ached to run but she was frozen.
Its head snapped up. Jada could see her reflection in the glossy red iris. The beast inhaled as its nose passed across her.
Not a snack, the whole meal. Is this really gonna be my last thought before I die?
Its putrid breath filled Jada’s nose. Instead of a roar it let out a series of low clicks.
Oh god, it’s engine won’t turn over.
Word Count: 200
For Sunday Photo Fiction – It’s my first time joining in with this (we can post on days other than Sunday right?) Also, dragons are like puppies. Who knew?
In the dream I’m standing at the intersection again. There’s the green truck, barreling towards the stop sign. The driver, otherwise preoccupied, with his head lolling back and his eyes half closed will never even brake.
The little red car will never see it coming, they will never realize he’s flying the wrong way down the one-way street.
I don’t need to watch the scene again and again to see the fear and recognition cross their faces. An anger bubbles inside me. That poor girl is no more than twelve years old when she flies through the passenger’s side windshield.
I can see the blood pooling by the tires and feel the splatters warm on my cheeks. The scene is the kind they say you never want to look away from but you know you should.
Even in my dreams I’m too shocked to do anything. There is no springing into action, no saving lives.
Even in my dreams they all die.
But I don’t hear the grinding metal and crunching bones. No, all I can hear … as loud as day even though I’m not wearing my headphones, is Aerosmith.
“Honey, you’re headin’ down a one-way street … And I gotta go the other way …”
My sheets are always soaked by time I wake because even in my dreams I can’t seem to go the other way.
I don’t know that I’ll ever understand
Why I do this to myself.
I know where this path leads,
This dubious street filled with dreams.
I walk it over and over,
Shuffling through the shattered memories.
They poke and they prod,
Stirring the most sensitive parts of me.
Yet I have no right,
I shut myself out here.
I broke your heart
You did nothing to me.
So I stand here on the curb,
Watching these abandoned memories.
I think of all the times I should have said
All those things I know I didn’t say before.
It’s just that I know where this dubious street leads
And these silly dreams …
Well you know me, head in the clouds
But this street is always so silent
And what I would give to hear
Another soul on this street of dreams.