She awoke. It had been the same dream. Again.
The same fear; rising up to choke her.
The same presence; just out of sight, out of reach.
She had fallen asleep in the armchair. The storm still raging; the thunder permeating her dreams, just as the cold air had seeped into her bones, chilling her.
She had been waiting, before sleep claimed her. She could still feel the anticipation that had surrounded her.
There had been hope in that anticipation, but now she felt empty.
When she was younger, she had taken comfort in her dreams; vivid and colourful, they provided an escape, an alternative. She couldn’t understand how others could forget their dreams so easily; could let them fade in the light of morning.
Now, sitting here in the pale grey dawn, she could see. To cling to that which is impossible brings pain and loss and grief.
This recurring dream only served to prove that.
But, once dreamt, a dream exists. However tenuously. It is given life, cannot be taken back. It has potential. And with potential comes the ability to change.
She had come here to escape. To make a new start. To heal. To change the outcome, her outcome.
This dream had power, but it could be changed.
This story picks up where Thunder left off.
You can find this weeks #ThePrompt linky here. I do hope this week’s prompt inspired you; I look forward to reading your posts.