I try to wish myself away. But my mind only takes me back to last night.
I drank too much bourbon. It felt better going down than it did coming up. My husband checked on me to ask if I was coming to bed soon. I lied.
Nothing out of the ordinary. Except, the brute that dragged me away when I was immobile was not my husband. He was too rough and unkind. If he was in a line-up, I would be an unreliable witness. Blurry eyed and wasted.
But, let me tell you why I am trying to wish myself away.
I cannot see, but I can hear: boots on the ground, my heartbeat in my ears, my heavy breathing.
I can hear and feel: tears wetting the cloth over my eyes, the lump in my throat and the shivering body next to mine.
I can feel and taste: iron from the blood in the air and fear that grew as the boots ca-chunked along the wooden floor.
It was a twisted merry-go-round, but only the boots were having fun.
Ca-chunk, caa-chuunk, caaa-chuuunk. I heard them slow as they reached me.
"Duck, Duck, Goose." The gun went off again.
Then someone reached over and pulled my blindfold down. I looked from the boots up; it was my husband. No one was dead.
*****
Thank you for reading.
Remember:
1. Vote for support. ⭐
2. Add the book to your library. 📚
3. Follow me if you want more. 😁
YOU ARE READING
Through The Fog
Short StoryA collection of short, sharp, immersive fiction. #experimental Highest rankings: #1 flashfic Backstory: My grandfather was an avid reader. He died suddenly on May 2nd 2021, having read nothing I've written. This is how I choose to honour his life a...
