In The Mouth Of The Dying Dark
by Lori Romero
Sarah woke from the nightmare, her eyes watering profusely. From what?
The dream fire burning out of control or the overwhelming sense of
helplessness? She shuffled into her slippers and groped for the light.
Why hadn't she bought that damn nightlight yet? They were cheap for God's
sake, and would have saved on stubbed toes.
The kitchen overhead was too bright, so she flicked on the range light.
Grabbed a carton of sherbet from the refrigerator, and scooped two large
tablespoonfuls in a bowl. The cold helped her relax.
She opened the large notebook on the table, and began to recount all of
the details from the nightmare. An airplane with the number 2457
emblazoned on the side. Passed a mountain range, small lake to the left.
No stars, so maybe it was cloudy. A fire in the right engine quickly
consuming the front of the plane.
Like Morse code, spoon tapped bowl, pen scratched paper. She had to get
every detail down. Note it all, no matter how unimportant it seemed.
Sometimes the dream gave her days to solve the conundrum, sometimes only
hours. Sometimes people listened, but most often not.