Another day would pass with the Butcher out of the hands of the law. “As it should be,” he decided.
Arthur Sheklefoot sat back and reread the last line. “Decided” wasn’t the word he’d been searching for, but it would do. Especially since it was now one-thirty in the morning and he simply wanted to come to a satisfying point at which to break and get some much-needed sleep. He wished that he was one of those writers who got creative during the daylight hours, but alas that was not the case for him and he simply had to get used to it. He didn’t have a choice; during the day he worked at a nine-to-five job anyway. He wondered if his writing habits would change if his luck at getting published improved, but he doubted it; he had always been more clever and efficient at night. And not even evening, we’re talking totally dark, dead-of-night hours.
He backed-up what he wrote so far on a handy flash drive and flopped his head on a pillow that seemed to caress him into dreamland. His dreams took on many forms and changed from one setting to the next, until one locale took on a sense of déjà vu for him. He had never seen it before, except maybe in his imagination, and he was startled to discover that he suddenly wasn’t alone there. A girl was clinging to a rugged brick wall, either oblivious to his presence or carefully avoiding noticing him. There was something in the way she pressed to it that suggested something was wrong. He thought he could hear sobbing.
“Miss?” Arthur said in his dream, approaching her slowly so as not to startle her. “Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?”
-From “The Mystified Morpheus” by Anthony Regolino
Follow Arthur Shakleford as he descends into madness…or is it reality.
Get your copy here: Fierce Tales: Shadow Realms