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I came up with the idea for this short story after wanting to step out of my comfort zone for a little bit. Up to this point, I have never written a chapter about war or things like that, so I hope it is somewhat accurate? This goes into the whole realm of PTSD, and my take on it. Anyway, here it is:
Bard jolted upright, immediately reaching for the rifle by his bed. Nothing. His gun was always there, always by his side for easy access. Where was it? Leaning over, Bard looked under his bed and recoiled as he felt the cool steel of a gun muzzle pressed against his forehead. Yelping, he fell back, tearing out of the tent....
...and directly into the manor hallway, stained with blood. Body parts lined the walls. A leg flew past his head, and Bard ducked, feeling bile rise up in his throat. No. Yelling reached his ears, men shouting orders and yelling in agony and pain as a small two inch blunt piece of metal pierced their body. No, it wasn't just outside anymore. Bullets whizzed by Bard's head as he ran into another room, taking no notice of the fuchsia haired lady sleeping in the bed. Yanking open the closet in her room, dresses and magazines tumbled out, concealing what the frazzled chef really needed right now.
A rifle fell down, and Bard grabbed it, immediately cocking it and taking off the safety. He was quiet, but the redhead sleeping still stirred, fixing Bard with her pinkish-red gaze. There was a moment of confusion, and then she stood up.
"Stay away! Little lass, hide away!" Bard ran out the door, but a hand pulled him back. He shook it off, but it persisted. Running, Bard collided with someone else. A rock hard chest, a familiar sharp scent. Slowly, the mirage faded, and the chef blinked up at Sebastian, who had an amused look on his face.
"Do you care to explain why you are running around the manor at two in the morning? Even our master is not awake at this hour. "
Bard stole a glance around the room, chest still heaving as he attempted to get a grip on what had happened in his nightmare. The walls looked normal now, not coated with blood. The redhead in the bed was Meyrin, the maid. No one else. She wasn't his wife. Unfortunately, Joanna was long gone. But it was something solid now, a reality piercing through the fog in his mind.
"Ah, I'm sorry, Sebastian. I-I just thought..."
"Another nightmare?" Sebastian mused, one hand on his chin. He looked down at the chef, and smiled, motioning for the chef to follow him. "Where we are going, you have no need for the rifle. Please put the safety back on and stow it away."
