Once the dart kicked in, I drifted into sleep. At first, I was so deep in sleep I didn’t dream, but then I did, and I wished I wasn’t, because I dreamt of Holly.
It wouldn’t have been so bad, but for the fact I kept dreaming the same thing, over and over, and even that wouldn’t have been so bad, if it was a good dream.
But it wasn’t. What kind of person would call watching the closest thing they had to family be shot once, let alone of and over again, a good dream? The answer: not me!
The worst part was, I could see it all. Every little detail was blown into focus. The gun being raised, the trigger being pulled, watching her crumple as it found its target. It was all happening again, at least it seemed to be, in vivid detail, right in front of me. And it was torture.Every time I watched it, it seemed to get worse and worse.
This is never going to end, I thought. And it did seem like it.
But finally, when it seemed the most hopeless, it did.
The dream started to dim. The colors swirled and mix, making the scene unrecognizable. And then, like the sunset, it slowly started to disappear altogether, sinking beyond the horizon and finishing its retreat.
My dream plunged into blackness.