Dead in the Trunk: A Short Story Collection by Craig Saunders

Author:Craig Saunders [Saunders, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Craig R. Saunders Publications
Published: 2012-01-19T00:00:00+00:00

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Sometimes my stories come to the page from dreams. The following is a dream I had, in fictional format, although the dream was pretty much this, from beginning to end. It was one of the few dreams I've had where I woke up refreshed instead of screaming for help.

Rapture

I am walking through the fields. Last night’s rain lingers in the earth and my feet are muddy. Stones irritate me, mud squelches between my toes. To the east the sun rises slowly. The dark still rules, but the hint of dawn is plenty to guide me in the field. Crows greet the rising sun with a cacophony of caws, a raucous song breaking the still night. An early car in the distance roars by on some assignation unknown. I stand for a moment and watch as a gentle breeze stirs the daffodils. It is a soft and sure spring morning.

Walking slowly now, relishing the feel of the earth beneath my feet, even the occasional stone biting the tender skin, I head toward the centre of the field. It is where I am supposed to be. My house sits silent behind me, but I do not look back. It is a new dawn, a time for moving forward. Sleep, too, has been left behind and forgotten. I am more awake now than I have ever been before. The air smells of sweet flowery fragrances and damp. The sounds are crisp and clear and the roads fall still. It is a perfect morning and I cannot imagine being anywhere else. I cannot imagine another time.

Wind flaps my fringe over my eyes. It tickles.

There is a hint in the air. Something new. My heart leaps with expectation. I am not ready yet, but when the time comes I will be. This touch of earth has the feel of a dream. The clarity of the crows morning call has the timbre of a dream. Yet I am more awake than I have ever been in the middle of the day when the sun is high or the sky is a sullen grey and rain drizzles down. I am more awake than those nights when the moon is full, or when I am full of thoughts of sex, or when I eat seafood and listen to the sound of the sea but only in my head. The sea is a distance uncovered, from the heartland of the country an unimaginable journey taken on an empty stomach. But in my head the tides rise and the waves roar.

In the centre of the field now and my feet are caked in mud to the ankles. There are people here, but I did not think this moment would be my own. I have had too many moments of my own. Sometimes a perfect thing is more so for the sharing. Only one of the people here is looking at me, a woman wearing a flowing white nightdress and a gentle smile. The rest lie still with glory on their faces staring at something unseen in the sky.

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