Morpheus in Carmine by Jayt Catlin
Every night after sex, before sleep, she willed herself to descend into that silken web of half-remembered lives unlived and drift through fields of cherry-scented heliotrope, but she never dreamed of him. Her mother admonished her that fiction was but a waking dream, drenching her in fantasies best left alone.
Finally Russ appeared, out of focus, clutching two cerise and white-striped carnations, chestnut hair pulled back, longer than in life. As a small child, he’d been lost in the Hatley Park rose garden, not tall enough to be seen over the hybrid teas dotting the castle lawns. Crimson buds bobbed in the wind. He whispered, “I don’t want to interfere with you.”
***
In early sunlight, she sniffed bacon molecules swirling through the morning dew, mingling with the sunrise air. “Union” her sweat shirt said in large garnet letters edged in gray.
She waited at the metal mesh table, red-striped umbrella unfurled. With a green and white oven mitt, her current boyfriend grasped an iron skillet. He flipped the omelet, suffused with basil and truffle oil, onto her chilled plate. As it happened, he too, was named Russell.
“Mostly I wanted sweet rolls with icing made from fireballs,” she said.
***
In October, while she and Russell II waited for their first trick-or-treater--Darth Vader or a scarlet M&M--the first Russell sent her an email, naked picture attached. Still she couldn’t will herself to dream of him, his body young and strong, razoring through her stolen words.
It was to be a full year before he next made an appearance in her night wanderings. She broke him out of jail, punching the sheriff in the jaw. Even on the lam, he paid her scant attention.
Finally Russ appeared, out of focus, clutching two cerise and white-striped carnations, chestnut hair pulled back, longer than in life. As a small child, he’d been lost in the Hatley Park rose garden, not tall enough to be seen over the hybrid teas dotting the castle lawns. Crimson buds bobbed in the wind. He whispered, “I don’t want to interfere with you.”
***
In early sunlight, she sniffed bacon molecules swirling through the morning dew, mingling with the sunrise air. “Union” her sweat shirt said in large garnet letters edged in gray.
She waited at the metal mesh table, red-striped umbrella unfurled. With a green and white oven mitt, her current boyfriend grasped an iron skillet. He flipped the omelet, suffused with basil and truffle oil, onto her chilled plate. As it happened, he too, was named Russell.
“Mostly I wanted sweet rolls with icing made from fireballs,” she said.
***
In October, while she and Russell II waited for their first trick-or-treater--Darth Vader or a scarlet M&M--the first Russell sent her an email, naked picture attached. Still she couldn’t will herself to dream of him, his body young and strong, razoring through her stolen words.
It was to be a full year before he next made an appearance in her night wanderings. She broke him out of jail, punching the sheriff in the jaw. Even on the lam, he paid her scant attention.
Jayt Catlin has had flash pieces in Mud Luscious and Paper Street. She and a friend write flash during the week their writing group doesn't meet.
