She felt as though her feet had frozen to the forest floor. He’d led her here, holding her hand the entire time as they raced like they’d done as children. He had been real, not imagined as her mind now wanted her to believe. “Oh no, oh no! We will not go there! You transformed before my eyes into this tree.”
Standing in the clearing in front of the old wounded tree, bloody sap flowing underneath a gnarly skin of bark she spoke again, “What would you have me do? Should I crawl inside the bloody space you show to me that I can stay with you? I am confused.”
She felt a hand rest softly on her shoulder and heard his voice, “What are you going on about love?” He asked her this and not waiting for her answer said, “Tell me all before you fully wake.” He knew not to let her nightmare dissipate so soon; her nightmares gave him such good fodder for the books he’d write.
She recounted her dream to her lover who sat in awe, as he always did when listening to the stories her subconscious mind would weave.
© Zora Zebic 2016