He had to run. He had run so much that his legs felt like they would fall off. It was at this moment that he understood why people stay in shape.
My eyes fall open to the filtered brightness of the summer sun through the thick off-white curtains; I watch dust float through the rays of light that manage to penetrate them. The warmth of Jordan's arm across my chest and hair against my neck shoots an ecstasy through my body. The stinging in my eyes has dramatically subsided since the storm; the red haze which glazed my vision is gone entirely. A fragrance so sweet is doing backflips in my nose in the form of whatever product Jordan used in his hair; not taking away from the discordant sight of his facial abrasions. Distracted by the beauty of the moment, I hear birds outside singing their songs as if nothing's even happening. I hear a shuffle from beside me and turn my head to be immediately met with his lips on mine whilst he holds my face with his hand. We part.
Bitterly cold wind blew through the pine trees and clawed at the tents. They were clustered around a dying fire. Dimly glowing embers were all that was left in a ring of charred stones.
They were circling the cabin again. Out here in the woods, isolated from the noise pollution and general electric hum emanating from every street lamp and central air system of modern life, every footstep sounds like the hoof of a bull tamping the dust. They weren't exactly trying to hide their presence; for almost a week They relentlessly pressured Jessica, escalating their sensory assaults sporadically. This late in the game she had abandoned her initial "heroic" attempt to ignore her emotions and her memories. Every night of this so far had started the same way, but the days were always different. It was always worst when the sun was up.
As I looked out the stuffy window of my bedroom, I saw the crystal clear icicles hanging down and the majestic sun setting above the dark, silhouetted trees. The dusty orange and soft blue gradient covered the evening sky as I saw a flickering light in the center of the endless painted scenery in front of me. My sister callowly assumed it was a star, but my father made it a point to honorably argue that it could've been a satellite or a planet.
Back in 1866, at the old Mulberry Psychiatric Hospital in London, there was a strange doctor who went by the name of Dr. Strum. He was known for being kind and caring for his patients, which was very unique and extremely rare at the time. For this reason, he was quite popular amongst the young patients. It is advised for doctors to not get too attached to their patients, he had broken that rule. Over time, Dr Strum had become tremendously fascinated, even obsessed, with treating a certain prepubescent, psychotic, female patient, who had been there for four-and-a-half years. She had elegant dark brown eyes, long flaxen hair and soft rosy cheeks and doll-like features. Dr Strum was so entranced by the young girl to the point he where he could no longer focus on anything else but her.
In May of 2017, my husband and I, along with my two small children, moved from the big suburbs of Chicago to a house outside a little town in Rural Northern Michigan. Our lease was up on our small apartment and with two kids, we wanted out of the city. We had visited Michigan earlier that year to be there for my older sister’s wedding and while vacationing, an opportunity had arisen. A friend of the family had offered for us to stay in the vacant house that they had owned next door during our trip so we could save on a hotel. The house had belonged to her father (who was very close friends with my father and practically a relative) but he had passed away a couple years before and the house was sitting empty. We thankfully accepted and before the end of our trip, we had been offered to rent the small two bedroom house for a very good price. We returned to Chicago, packed up all our belongings, and left a week and a half later.
It was 1805. Bulgaria. The century had just begun and already it promised to be prosperous for wealthy landowners such as me.
“Tell me, Alice,” she asked, pen on her paper. “What do you remember most about your dream?”