Nightmare | Slave's

I turned back to the boy. He lifted his head. His eyes were mine. But empty. So empty. Like two holes burned in a blanket.

“Who is he?” I asked.

My chest burned. My back burned too, though I dared not touch it. I remembered the lash from waking life—how it had carved rivers into my skin. In the dream, those rivers were weeping. I felt blood trickle down my thighs, warm at first, then cold as the swamp air found it. slave's nightmare

“Mama,” I whispered. My throat was dust. I turned back to the boy

The horn sounded again. Closer now. The dogs began to bay. warm at first