Member-only story
The Girl I Saw in My Dreams
Was she fact or fiction? Who could say?
It was the third day of the war when I first dreamed of her. The night had been restless, my fellow countrymen lying in trenches that had been hastily dug only a week ago, and I was still adjusting to wearing soldier’s clothing when I had been only a struggling accountant days before. I fell into an uneasy sleep, so certain that a missile blast would reawaken me to high alert at any moment.
And I began to dream.
The first things I noticed were the buildings — misshapen things now, metal bent by fire and holes punctuating what were once apartments and offices. I walked through quiet streets, too quiet for a cloudless day, and took in the carnage around me. A blown-open car sat like the carcass of a great beast, smoke still pluming from where a bomb had struck it.
Then I turned my head and saw her.
I would have thought she was a fixation born from an over-tired mind. Her hair fell in golden waves, her skin pale as if she had never seen an ounce of sun. She wore a red dress that fluttered at its skirt, and she stared at me as if I were an illusion too. Her mouth moved soundlessly, words I couldn’t understand shaped from her lips. I shook my head.
