Jack reached out across the bed. Sleeping, dreaming, he reached in the wrong direction and fell to the floor with a loud crack. You would think that that would wake him up, it didn’t. He lay on the carpet snoring and dreaming, wondering where she was. What did wake him up was the cloud of dust stirred up by his sudden impact with the floor. The dust, mostly dead mite carcasses tickled his nose and he started to sneeze. A violent series of convulsions got his attention.
He groggily looked around. This looks familiar. I think I’ve been here before. Slowly he climbed back in bed, glanced at the other side. That was a pretty good dream. I want to go back there. But of course that would not happen. Instead it was replaced by a nightmare. A violent argument, words said, a gun was pulled. He woke with a start. Oh no, not that.
He reached over, turned on the bedside light. That’s when he saw the blood on the other pillow. She was lying on the floor on the other side with his gun in her hand.