Thursday, July 19, 2012

The boy counted to one hundred and twenty-three, blew out the candle and went to sleep. He dreamed of two tall, black teenagers, a boy and a girl. The three of them were stood in the yellowed, grassy median of a highway and it was dark, but the light from zooming cars hung like long exposure photography, like melting neon tubes.

"Wow." the black girl said. "You're pretty strong to pull us here like this."

"What?" he asked.

"How did you pull us here?" The black boy spoke, and it was the same voice that he'd heard the day before, the one that stood up for him, protected him from Mark.

"You!" he said, waking himself up.

(In the dream before they dealesed the two looked quizzically at each other. The girl shrugged, the boy sighed as they faded out.)