Thanks to Alistair for providing the prompt for another week of Sunday Photo Fiction. I am last as usual, and the world keeps spinning. 🙂 If you’d like to join in, click here.
I can’t sleep on planes. Regardless of how tired I am and how long the flight is, I just can’t, which is why I’m standing bleary-eyed in this compartment of the London Eye trying desperately to appreciate what I’m seeing when what I really want are cool sheets in a comfortable bed with hotel white noise lulling me to sleep. But the gang belittles my whines; “We can’t miss a thing!” they say.
Giving up, I sit and drift off until I hear a voice, “Did you think you could leave me behind?” It sounds like Jason’s ex-, Duilia, my stalker.
“I could prick you with this sewing needle. It’s laced with digitalis. No one would ever figure it out.”
I try to open my eyes, verify it’s just a dream, but my eyelids feel weighed down.
“They’d just see you here, so exhausted. I’d be off before they figure out you were dying and not just sleeping.”
It must be a nightmare.
Jason taps me on the arm, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”
I open my eyes to see his smile and then beyond him, a familiar tall brunette departing the car, she turns slightly and mouths: “soon.”