Volume 10 Issue 3
HALF A DREAM
By Rob Bermingham
Chrissy spun at the foot of the bed with her left hand in the air. She
was dancing. The room was dark, and only some of the moonlight seeped
in through the plastic shutters.
"What are you doing?" Michael said.
She spun faster, her hand flinging around as if she were a Kuchipudi
dancer in India. Michael watched her for a moment and smiled. She was a
child. A bird. One of those flailing green air men in a used car lot.
"You're beautiful," Michael said, "but please come back to bed."
She didn't stop. Faster and faster she went.
Michael propped himself up and when he put his hand down to his right,
where Chrissy slept, he was met by her warm flash. She pushed his hand
"Uhnth," she said.
The girl danced on. He couldn't stop watching. There was a little
tornado in the room and Michael wanted it to suck it in. He was Helen
Hunt. He was the storm chaser. And, like that, with a blink, she was
Michael put his head against the pillow and drifted off to sleep,
unsure of how he would interpret the experience in the morning, or if
he'd even remember.
Rob Bermingham traveled the world for few years and then came back home. He has published both fiction and non-fiction pieces.