Free to Write

Typically, he spent all his energy on running away. At his last breath, he wheeled around to face his pursuer. It was no policeman or his father or the man from whom he had borrowed so much money once. It was her with the heart-shaped face, rolling her huge, soft eyes at him.

He remembers having this dream before, his dying dream, as he has pondered its images in waking hours. Now, he can’t tell if he is still sleeping or lying awake, recalling the dream. Is he dreaming even when awake?

His wife is there, next to him, her chestnut curls spread upon the pillow. She opens her eyes and smiles drowsily. “I know the dream,” she says. “You are not dying, you know. It is your heart chasing you.” She is so beautiful...and so right, he thinks.

Miraculously, he finds the strength in his legs to get up and walk to the bathroom, despite being chased, despite that recurring dream.