being, chapter one, page one

being -- chapter one -- page one --mechelle morrison

chapter  one page one

Ask anyone.  I’m not a dreamy kind of guy.  I’m about math and hockey.  And science.  I’ll stop anywhere to watch a bug.  But dreamy?  Never.

Nightmares are a different story.  My worst nightmare, the one I’ve had since I was just a kid, starts with me lying spread-eagle on a slab of wet cement.  Bitter wind streams through me, whispering things I can’t quite hear.  If I could understand the words I could keep the wind from stripping out my soul.  But all I ever catch is my name—Shepherd.

I can’t scream as the wind guts me.  I can’t move—except my arm.  I lift it and flex my fingers in front of my face.  It’s too dark to see.

But my fingers tremble.

Rain falls.  Icy water puddles in my eyelids.  The rain turns to hail.  It cuts my clothing, my flesh.  Then one stabbing flash of lightning and everything stops, leaving me in dead quiet, panting and bleeding.  But not alone.