Damien Awoken

It was cold as I shot up from my dream. The girl again, the one with all the freckles. I couldn’t get her out of my head.
Voices and faces flashed through my mind like schitzophrenic fireworks as I fought to push them out of my mind’s eye.
“What the hell is happening to me?” I asked myself. The rhetorical nature of my own question was not lost on me. I knew full well the answers were locked inside my brain, somewhere. And I knew that the woman with the freckles was the answer.
As my thoughts jogged past the memory of her face, a flash struck me. It was such an overpowering explosion, that it sent me reeling back onto the cot in the room.
“Get away from me!” the woman shouted, “Don’t touch me!” She screamed.
A man flew through the air, landing in a heap.
“Jesus Christ!”
Was that she who cursed, or was it me? I fought to stay with it. He watched as if floating overhead.
“He’s dead, K!”
“I have to get out of here! Have to get to Ottawa,” Faith said as the vision faded.
Ottawa? Where the fuck was that?

View this story's 6 comments.