Original Flash Fiction for Promposity Halloween Contest
In Dreams I Hold
Memory can torment, even in our last moments.
Donavan became aware slowly, as if from sleep, and looked around him. The walls of the octagonal shaped chamber were a dingy eggshell, the floor tiles cracked. A large window pane was set in the wall to his right but it was oddly curtained.
Then it came to him, the oddness — the curtains were on the outside. He couldn’t seem to remember how it worked, but it didn’t much matter to him.
He settled back, noticing more oddness. The chair itself, uncomfortable, wooden, roughened patches rubbed through his pajama bottoms. Did he buy the chair?
Closing his eyes again, an image formed. A russet haired beauty stepped from a gingerbread cottage. She looked with affection toward where Donavan knew he stood and warmth traveled across his body, settling into his heart. He tried to reach for her but something stopped him.
His arms felt heavy and as he strained to lift them a biting pain took hold sharp enough to rouse him from the scene in his mind. Confusion replaced serene longing and looking down he saw his arms bound to the chair.
The curtain opened and unfriendly faces peered in. A disembodied voice said something, asked something, but he was too busy struggling against his restraints to make sense of it.
A man in a dark suit stood close to the window holding a worn book, lips moving, an older woman who seemed familiar sat center front, tear streaked, an older man next to her, stoic. A few others were writing, peering, writing.
He heard a hiss, smelled burnt almonds and in that moment, a different picture formed, disturbing, violent, murderous, unreal, yet he recognized memory within the imagining. His lungs contracted, his dreams shattered, and he came apart, the molecules that once defined him now diffuse within eternity.
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