A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Ghosts

It was the scream that stayed with him. Through their escape, through Tishaani’s recovery, through his own pain, the scream echoed in his mind.

He wasn’t surprised to hear it again in his dreams, not given the source. That it was the thread that bound the all scenes together, the support on which all his night-time reflections hung, did disturb him, however. Despite Tishaani’s more open demeanour, the jester still played coy with the details of the Dreamscape. How much of it came from that hazy world, and how much of it was pulled from the dreamers was a never clarified.

There was an art to the avoidance, Desian had to admit, but he couldn’t appreciate it when he woke in a sweat, the scream vibrating through the core of his bones. He needed to know if it came from him. That it was the creation of his subconscious, the remaining terror of the moment given haunting voice.

Because if it wasn’t, then the sound was still coming from the screamer.



by | Jan 21, 2011

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