This is my psychiatrist's couch. Take from it what you will.
But do leave a note.
I still am a late middle aged former government worker marking time until the cliff.
Short Fiction, Doggerel and Insensitive Opinion are spoken here.
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Thursday, January 8, 2015
Nightmare (Blogophilia 47.7)
Blinding light … Intense
heat flashed across her face as she turned toward the noise, a car splintering
into pieces along with the people around it. A body was hurled into the tree…
The dull thud of impact woke her, sweat pouring from her
face. The deep red sunrise peeked through the gray slatted blinds. Sitting on
the edge of the bed, Sandy ran her fingernails along the damp fabric of her
nightgown and tried to breathe normally. This one was more than vivid, she was
THERE. The images were worrisome. In all the years she had been working the
Psychic gig, dreams this intense usually were triggered by someone outside of
There had only been the one client, Jeremy. He truly was dangerous. Obsessed with his
enemies and hell bent on revenge. The Zima
she had after seeing him wouldn’t have done it, since she didn’t chase it with
any Xanax. She had learned that moderation in all things made the next morning
a lot more pleasant.
Using a floral hankie to her to wipe
the water off her face, she sat on the edge of the bed. The bodice of her nightgown was soaked, cleavage almost
fully exposed. Jeremy’s face came to her
mind while stripping the wet gown off. Slipping the panties off, she faced
judgment before the mirror.
The body looking back at her was trim, with well formed
breasts that seem to defy age and gravity. A face with only small lines and a
belly was taut and smooth all the way to the garden. A wealthy client had offered her access to
her surgeons, but she had turned it down. Jack used to say good wine ages
naturally and she was the finest vintage. Why mess with a good thing?
The small hands stroked down from ribs to nipples and she
let out a small sigh and smiled. Memories of him coming in saying “Ce qui pour
le diner” with his head traveling down made her shudder. Feather touches and
blazing passion surrounded her. The fire
still was there; maybe someday she’d find the right one.
She really needed to pee.Quickly, she stepped into the
bathroom and sat.
Human weakness and insecurity paid her bills. They weren’t
pretty enough, wealthy enough or skinny enough.People needing
assurance that either they were more special or the specialness was just around
the corner. The skill spinning stories with the Tarot deck provided that comfort
to most of her clients. As she finished
up, another thought came.
Jeremy. If he wasn’t so crazy, he might be an interesting
lay. But the quick search of his past ended any and all chances of that. Crazy
had been with her more than once with painful and violent results before she
had met Jack. She wasn’t going there again. She knew absolutely he was a
runaway train and the final outcome was going to be his death.
What scared her was that others would be taken
out with him
Instead of starting the shower, she picked up her phone.
And in the mists, Sarah smiled. They were going to be