Short Story by Gregory Stevens
Abe was a fine specimen of manhood, especially for the time he lived. He worked hard of course but always, always had the dream of aspiring to do more with his life. But it seemed lately all of his dreams were being interrupted and disturbed by voices or echoes or something in his head. It seemed like the rest of the world was not on the same page as he was. But no matter, he was a confident lad who felt things would work out fine as long as he stuck to his guns. After all, except for a recent bump on the head, his luck was something to brag about. He did find it more difficult as of late to get things done but he attributed that to just being tired. He had great plans for him and his family. He could see them all living in a beautiful home one day with the respect of all of his neighbors and friends. But as he reached back and felt the bump on the back of his head, it seemed to hurt more than it first did. Anyway, he was a tough country boy and this was nothing.
Although he really didn’t remember what happened. He looked to his wife sitting near to him and she was giving him the oddest look. He knew he had forced her to come out tonight but he felt that as hard as he had being working they deserved a night out and even though he had forgotten the name of the place they were, the audience and people on the stage in front of him told him they were at the theatre. He loved plays, and really, the only thing he enjoyed more was reading.
Anyway, he was a bit hot and when he asked his wife for her hanky to wipe his forehead, she didn’t respond, although now it appeared she was looking down at him rather than next to him. Rather befuddled, his confusion suddenly increased when his wife’s face contorted into that of a horrified woman, and even though her mouth was wide open, he couldn’t hear a thing. What the hell was going on? Had he falling asleep at his desk and this was some strange dream? He certainly had been having a lot of them. Lately he’d been having terrible dreams about violence and his own death. As he reached over to touch his wife’s cheek, his arm didn’t move. Now he knew it was a dream.
Then, as he tried to wake himself up like he normally was able to do when he had odd or unpleasant dreams, he suddenly was engulfed in a multitude of male and female screams. He was surrounded by people he didn’t know and he wondered how they all could have squeezed into the small room they were in. Then through the mass of faces came that of the young soldier that was in the seat next to him. He felt the young man’s hand cup the back of his head but when he pulled his hand back it was covered in a black gunk, but it became bright red when a splash of light from the overhead lamp touched upon it. When he took his handkerchief and placed it at the back of his head, suddenly it occurred to this very intelligent President, he was touching his brain and with that realization, Abe was no longer there.
Short story written by Gregory Steven.
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