AllFreeNovel
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He drew it all.
RUNNING
The world is black and white, gray and red.
White snow. Thin gray smoke. Its acrid smell hurts your nose.
The black: A scorched world. Crisped trees. Smoldering cabins. Charred horses. Bodies.
And red snow, like strange flowers blooming.
The man sinks to his knees. Cries. A great animal howl above the scream of wind.
Red snow shifts, transforms into redbrick church.
The man’s sad face looms above yours.
Feel the warm scratch of wool tucked snugly around you.
He speaks but you cannot hear.
There is loud knocking against the church doors. Light spills out, hard and yellow. Arms reach for you—not the man’s. He is gone. Angels in black and white lift you into light.
You shift in your sleep and the dream shifts with you.
Now it is the room.
The room in the house.
The room in the house near the railroad tracks.
To your left, the open window. Hot wind sucks cheap nylon curtains against the peeling paint of a wood frame. To your right, a chest of drawers: an overturned lamp, lampshade gone, naked bulb exposed. A pink wildflower droops in a small blue vase.
Watch the vase. The wildflower. Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t…
He grabs your chin, roughs your face toward his. His hard, beautiful face.
He is shouting, wet mouth spilling out hateful words on a tide of boozy breath.
Shouting. Purplish veins strain against the anger-red skin of his neck.
Shouting. You ever try to leave me, I’ll kill you first!
Shouting’s over, and the first slap comes stinging across your cheek. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you by now, but it always is. In your ears, a crack like a gunshot and the room goes wavy. Another blow follows. And another. Blood in your mouth like warm, liquid iron. One hand presses against your neck, holds you in place. You cannot see the other. But you hear it working.
The clinking of the belt buckle giving way. The angry rustle of trousers.
And it’s worse than the shouting and the slapping. Your eyes slide toward the rattling chest of drawers bumped by the bed again and again. The flower shakes in the vase. With each thump, petals fall off, drift to the warped floorboards. You drift down with them. You are not here. You are gone. Floating up and away as you’ve taught yourself to do.
The hand at your neck tightens. You cannot speak. Cannot breathe.
No longer floating, you are trapped in your body.
That’s when it starts, deep in your belly.
The world goes black and white, gray and red. Terror. Desperation. Survival. Rage. A twisting, whirring universe of emotion exploding into heat. It rushes through your veins like a brush fire through rain-starved grass. His eyes widen in horror, such horror you want to stop it for yourself as much as for him. You put up a hand, press it to his cheek to anchor yourself, and he screams and screams. The pressure of his palm leaves your neck.
A sound reaches your ears. A voice on the wind. “Theta.”
