Under A Hackney Sky - Preview
Pre-dawn. When the here and now are but blurred lines and slithers of time.
The sleeping figure tentatively raised her hand, and let it fall against her restless head. It slid away wet. Sweat trickled down her face, joined the tears and rolled as one into the hollow of her throat.
A sweet, stale breath gushed over her face. Her hand paused in mid swing, ready to hit out at the invisible force. The sleeper covered her already tightly closed eyes and waited.
Both hands slid from her face to her neck. Her breathing stopped. Her hands became fists at her side and beat a frantic rhythm on the bed. They pulled and grabbed the damp sheets; tightening, always tightening.
She let out a whisper of air. More than a sigh, less than a breath. A puff of smoke hovered above the bed becoming blacker, more defined.
"Hmm, hmm," it whispered as it faded.
She opened her eyes and stared hopelessly into the grey morning.
Ruth covered her eyes again and listened for the sound. It came, as she knew it would. Crying, sad, stifled, human sobbing. She sat up, slowly, still on the dream side but ready. For a moment, for one free moment, she forgot her pain; forgot she was the source of the disturbance.