Spark

A short story by Daniel Verastiqui

© Daniel Verastiqui. All Rights Reserved.

Near the end of the dream, locked in the sadness of a final embrace, I heard it; the grating sound of the alarm clock. It was faint, but even in this world, it echoed all around me. She and the world faded out and I opened my eyes. My face was buried in my pillow, something I began to think about but abandoned as the drone of the alarm clock continued. I pulled my arm from my side to slap the offensive noise, managing to tap the snooze button in the process. For a moment, I stared at my pillow, labored to breathe with my mouth and nose pressed up against it. Then I remembered that I rarely sleep on my stomach. I always start out on my back, maybe end up on my side, but never face down. Except...

It all came back to me; the dream, the significance, why my heart was racing a mile a minute. I sat up quickly, kicking the tightly tucked covers out from under me. Against the darkness of the room, I tried to remember what I had seen. For a brief moment, I saw her, in detail, but then it was gone. I knew I would have to start soon if I was going to be able to remember enough about her. I dressed and showered quickly, giving myself time to put the pieces back together. I had identified three major sequences by the time I slipped my shirt on. Those were unimportant, of course, they were simply how I imagined spending time with her. The important thing was what she looked like, being able to describe the features of her face. Still, thinking about the dream helped me keep her fresh in my mind. I sat down at my computer to begin my work.