“It was a long time ago. The men were all on horses or on foot. They had a prisoner – an old, Indian man. A shaman of some kind, I think. I could see the power in him. In spite of everything that had happened, being tied up, a prisoner, he had more dignity and courage than all the others put together. There was an ambush of some kind. I could see it happening. And then someone shot him. Some kind of animal screamed. And that was the end of the dream. I woke up, and was right here, in my own bed, safe and sound,” I said, sitting at the counter in Verdante and Sophia's lovely kitchen. I left out the part about scared half to death, convinced that whoever or whatever had killed the shaman was coming for me, next.
“Vision, Dulci,” said Verdante.
“Okay, then. Vision.” Sulking a little at the correction, I sipped Sophia's fragrant coffee and waited. Alone in my bed at three in the morning, I got a lot of comfort out of telling myself it really was just a dream. Dreams can’t hurt you.
Of course, I also got a lot of comfort out of imagining Evil Editor was there with me. Until I got a little overzealous, rolled off the bed and wedged my head under the nightstand. Dreams can't hurt you, visions only seem disturbing, but fantasies? Fantasies will bring you down hard every time.
Opening: Anonymous.....Continuation: Anonymous