His Dreams

He crawled into bed around two; after the bars closed and the midnight diner had sold it’s last slice of cherry pie. He was half dressed; one boot on the other laying ‘cross the floor. His work shirt was off and pants hovered ’round his knees. Snoring began.

She placed her skinny arm atop his pot belly, rubbed the hair on it and kissed his cheek. Goodnight, she said. He just kept on snoring, air flow cutting on and off. She often thought he was ’bout to die. She’d shake him a little.

And he’d dream throughout the night. Color pictures would race ‘cross his mind; dreamt of running from something. Always running from something; men, hunters with shotguns roamin’ through the woods. One was the woman’s daddy. The two others were her brothers. He’d run and look back at em. They took their time.

It was a reoccurring dream. And he’d wake up just when shots were fired. Guns goin’ off in his mind. Loud noise ringin’ in his ears; smell of gunfire.

He’d wake up and remove her arm from ’round his waist. The sun was just comin’ up in the trailer window. His head would scream. Always a silent scream. He fixed himself some coffee while she slept. Sat there a spell. Looked outside at the woods behind his home. One of these nights they’re gonna get me, he whispered. One of these nights.

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