Michael Hays
Bio
If I write down what I dream about, and dream the things I write about, would my dreaming self and waking self stop trying to kill each other?
Stories (1/0)
Mother's Pendant
The sound of a lone violin broke the silence. Aria jolted awake, bumping her forehead against a dirt ceiling. Her dreams faded, but the music continued. Aria rocked and struggled to loosen her limbs. I’m underground! Other instruments joined a cheerful arpeggio. Aria could feel her lungs burn as a static closed in around her thoughts. Need air. She closed her eyes tightly and strained, squeezing one arm up alongside her body. She braced herself and pushed, straightening her legs and punching her arm upwards through the rubble. Aria flailed at the elbow, struggling to make room for her second arm. The orchestra filled her mind as she dislodged her body and pulled herself upwards, squeezing her head through the hole she had made. As the air flooded into her lungs, the music faded, and she prostrated herself onto her torso. Where am I? Aria rolled onto her back and took an accounting of the pain she felt in her legs. The cool floor felt good, and her head lolled to one side. A shaft of light cut through a room down a dark hallway and Aria considered this. Had there been an earthquake?
By Michael Hays3 years ago in Fiction