Gray Blind 3


Inspiration hits with a flash, stories written on the go. A rumble of laughter and the tale is heard only in echoes. The wind blows me in a new direction. Whom shall I visit next?

Rachael's eyes could not focus. Where was the glass wall? Where was the bathroom door? It all appeared to be in a fog. The stripes slowly rose up the vanity. The thrumming fan and her syncopated heartbeat lulled her into a vague, uneasy gray of dissociation that was disturbingly familiar, yet never comfortable to her. She was too scared, and too weary, to make the effort to snap back to reality, until something moved, not two feet from her shower door. The heavy antique hairbrush keeled over the edge of the sink to rap in the single square inch of exposed wood floor in that area. It bounced towards her, the handle pointing out Rache's hiding place.

Had she knocked into the brush on her way to the shower? She could not remember. She had not been aware. She tried in vain to see anything else in the room that might have struck it. She squinted against the dimness and was only half sure she was alone. Her heart was pumping even faster than before. She wanted call out "Hello?" but did not dare.

She shivered.

Comments (1 so far!)

ElshaHawk LoA

ElshaHawk LoA

I want the fog to be something more, like a gas that enshrouds the invisible enemy.

  • #1402 Posted 6 years ago
  • 0

Inspired by (sequel to):

Her faded blue jeans--faded through use, not by chemicals at a factory--seemed to be slit into strip…

Gray Blind 2
  • Published 6 years ago.
  • Story viewed 4 times and rated 0 times.

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