The House On Top of a Cliff

It was a sunny late afternoon. Waves were crashing against the walls of a cliff where a huge Victorian house lay on it.

Inside, I stood behind a screen door while looking at the sun as it slowly says goodbye for the day. Not far from me, a white man in his twenties rocked back and forth as he squats on the floor. He was repeatedly uttering someone’s name.

I suddenly found him looking at me. I knew what he was thinking.

Next door, two girls were playing on the backyard. Their dad, sitting on a lounge chair, was laughing as he conversed with an old couple. Their mom was inside the house, preparing some snacks.

I told the little girls that I wanted to see their mom. Without hesitation, she went with me to the house on top of the cliff where someone was waiting for her.

We were standing in the kitchen when he came from behind her. With a huge pan in his hands, he motioned to hit her on the head when I turned around. I knew what he was planning to do. I knew...

She stood. I pretended I wasn’t hearing her moan with pain. I pretended not to hear her calling my name in a whisper. I still had my back on her, but I can see her bloodied hands reaching out for me. When she was about to finally reach me, I got to the kitchen door and closed it behind me.

...and that was when I woke up. It’s seven in the morning. I have to go to work.