Her long auburn hair swirls around her as she dashes to her husband's side, knocking him sideways.
Reflexively, he grabs her as he falls. She lands on top of him.
The gunshot echoes above the traffic noise on the busy street.
He feels her body shudder from the impact. Her blood splatters him.
Other agents start toward the lone gunman, guns drawn.
Rolling over, he flees for his life.1
The night was far from spent, but she had awakened again, palms clammy, heart thudding. Vague wisps of the familiar nightmare with its ever-evolving details clung to her mind.
Well, my "death" seems to have reached a state of static polish, but I'm sure I've never been to a hotel with that type of convention hall before, either in dreams, or in real life. I thought dreams were supposed to be made up of real events, just redeposited... My hair has never been long, and I'm SURE I'd remember if I'd ever had a husband... especially a hunk like him!
Afterward, she lay sleepless, wriggling around in a futile hunt for a more comfortable position, as if creating the right "nest" among the sheets, blankets, pillows, and comforter would bring the bliss of a dreamless sleep.
Focus your thoughts on something, someone, or some place serene and peaceful. Imagine yourself in that place, with that someone, doing that something, or using that something, whenever you feel anxious.
"The modern mantra to replace counting sheep," she thought cynically, squirming into yet another, equally unrestful, position.
Don't knock it until you give it a fair try.
"Okay. I will. I'll dream up the perfect lover, and take him to bed with me each night I can't fall asleep," she resolved as a way to end her inner dialog. She dropped off before she got him created.
Last updated 7/28/04.
-- from Despina's Infamous Green Journal, travelsfar (lj) 1/1/02
Today, I took the truck in to have a mirror mounted on the driver's door. (Jess gave it to me for Christmas, so you can see, I am right on top of things...)
I ran the AC and was a happy camper driving in, then walked across town to the library, where I bought 25 books for 10¢ each. I left them there and said I'd come back with the truck when it was done and get them.
As I re-entered the service station, one of my fellow teacher's husbands was sitting there waiting for a repair on his van. He greeted my comment about the truck possibly being used to go to Michigan to retrieve a horse with, "I wouldn't take it to Centerville, the way it is."
The paint is a mess, so the truck looks really bad. I told him the engine was in good shape. He said something sounded bad in the back end.
To take the sting out of his blunt remark, an employee piped up, "We pay him to sit there and make nasty comments about people's vehicles so we get more business."
So, I asked the mechanic, who thinks someone is really looking out for me ever since I blew the head or head gasket in my BMW in April and was still futzing around in it in late June when I got the Accura. He told me it really would be better NOT to drive it, but he couldn't guarantee he'd get to it before Wednesday.
So, I came home with the teacher's husband, who was kind enough to stop at the library while I picked up my books, and the grocery store while I got my milk and bread... For all his gruff talk, he's pretty okay.