The nightmares are haunting, full of strangeness. They call me through them. Who or what, I don’t know, but they’re out there. Waiting.
And I need to go.
She’s nice and all, but she’s not them. There’s something more waiting elsewhere. Maybe it’s where I belong.
I climb out the window in the cold, dark of night, when the sun won’t burn me, and I find the car waiting. I pay with her card and direct the car to the countryside, out west, toward the calls.
There’s something inside my head, something different, something they know.
Maybe that’s home.
© 2021 Rebecca Glaessner
March 25 2021, prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less), write an escape. It can be daring or subtle. Who is escaping from what and why? Go where the prompt leads!
Submissions now closed. Read the full collection here.