Short Stories

Chaos to peace

A dark, curling smile is the only thing I see as hands grip my throat.
I'm frozen in place as my lungs burn for oxygen.
I grip the hands that grip me.
"Maybe this would be better." The thought makes me snap out of my stupor and dig my nails into its wrist and then it bursts into a smoke and I open my eyes.
I star at the ceiling gripping my own arms, carving crescents into my own skin. Morning light bleeds through the window. Lights are still off.
Quiet except for the occasional bird or bark of a dog.
I drag myself out of the bed and peer out of the glass. The fall colors drench the world. Much is still green though. The cool glass indicates a chilly day.
I dress and walk out into the early morning light, the sun is just behind the trees cascading shadows along the ground as I make my way into the trees.
I guess nightmares are good sometimes.