Caked in mud I tried to move, my effort seemed to gratify the stubborn substance as I sank lower with every move of resistance. Reaching forward my fingers latched onto the coarse stem of a prairie grass and though the plant was strong it wasn't wide enough for me to get a good handle.
It didn't help that my hands were wet either. I splashed the water angrily, I needed to find another way out. Twisting uncomfortably I could see two figures in the distance.
I was in a pond not much larger than the green space at White Pine, surrounding the muddied water were dense lines of trees that let up only for the abundant flowers that lined the bank. The scene looked oddly familiar but I couldn't seem to place it.
I stood at one end, behind me stood the couple. They were far enough away where I could make out their figures but not their faces. The man wore a dark suit and kept his hands in his pockets. He looked tense as the woman whose back was to me spoke to him, a dark braid cascaded down her back moving slightly catching the suns glint as she spoke.
I opened my mouth to shout for help but there was nothing there, not even a croak sounded from my throat. That wasn't good. In action movies or adventure books this was always the section where the protagonist would reach into their pocket or below the boats deck, and produce a flare, flag down a plane or cruise liner and be saved.
I, however apparently missed the memo about tucking a flare away for safe keeping like one might keep a pocket knife of rabbits foot. So I settled for the next best thing.
Splashing wildly I waved my hands in the air in attempt to catch the attention of the man and woman engrossed in conversation one hundred feet from me.
As I performed my abstract YMCA dance the voices of the couple grew louder -though I still couldn't make out the particulars. The woman who faced away had stopped talking, the man taking over pointing at her accusingly. He took a step forward and she mirrored his movements backwards, nearing the edge of the bank.
In what seemed like slow motion the man reached behind him producing a massive framed painting and in one movement knocked the woman over the head with it. I froze, my hands falling to my sides just as gravity took the woman, delivering her to the pond. I saw the splash of her body hit the water before I heard the sound.
Like thunder a deafening crack rang out, the shock releasing my voice as I screamed bloody murder. No sooner had I done so then the mud made its last push and sucked me underneath the water.
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stress dreams are the best aren't they .. !
YOU ARE READING
The Painting
Mystery / Thriller"It took me five seconds to fall. The impact on my chest jarring my body but not my mind. I suppose this is the point where your life is supposed to flash before your eyes as time itself freezes - and it did in a way. But I didn't relive my life phy...
