By J. E. Miller
Copyright 2012 J. E. Miller
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The guttural rumbling of the van’s engine roused me from a deep sleep. My eyes groggily opened to the fading purple-gray light of late dusk and the steady stream of warm air from the heat vents. I turned my head to look out at the desolate scenery flying past, not really seeing it, still caught in the grip of my dream.
I’d been dreaming of the way things used to be, before the whole world had descended into Hell... dreaming of home, and my mother, and what living had been like without the constant shadow of fear following close behind me.
I could see her face in my mind as clearly as if she were standing before me, see her long, silky black hair and vibrant emerald green eyes. I could smell the coffee in her hand, sweet and loaded with cream; I could hear the love in her voice as she said goodbye to me on my way out the door.