His hands closed around her neck and tightened. As he watched what was happening, he felt like he was doing just that, watching. He felt disconnected from himself, like the hands choking the life out of his wife belonged to someone else. He felt terror at this but was powerless to stop. He squeezed tighter and her eyes, wide with fear and confusion, bulged in their sockets. Her lips soundlessly mouthed the one-word question "Why?" just before he was jerked violently from his sleep and sat bolt-upright in bed overwhelmed by panic.
The sheets were soaked. His shorts were soaked. Sweat ran from his hair, into his eyes, down his face. His respiration was quick and shallow. He sat there slowly coming back to reality, wondering what on earth or in heaven (or maybe hell) would cause him to have such a vividly depraved dream, and why, indeed, was he strangling his own wife.
No comments:
Post a Comment