Underwater

A Fragmented Dream (Short Fiction)

Polaroid photo taken by the author.

She felt her consciousness forced out, pushed backward. She was misty blue. Her form was composed of particles, densest around her head and spine, tapering into nothingness beyond.

They thinned until her feelings were so disparate that they could barely be seen.

Knowing she was behind and in front of herself, the solid self disappeared as she fell backward.

The scenery around her blurred to technicolor strips.

All at once, she found herself whole again. Her body felt different somehow, but she was herself.

She stood alone in front of a bar. There were no other buildings on the block. It looked like an old white house with crown molding. The paint peeled, and its two steps and porch creaked as she walked on them.

It seemed her feet were whole after all.

Walking inside, she immediately recognized several friends laughing around a round table near the entrance.

“I miss you. Can I call you?”