by Ian Woodhead
Copyright Ian Woodhead October 2010
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She rose to the surface like ocean driftwood. Her dream sequence fragmented and dissolved, leaving behind only disjointed images coated with a taste more appealing than what lay beyond her eyelids.
Reality didn’t have a hope; Ellie Pearson snuggled deeper into her warm cotton sheets and allowed her mind to flow back towards her comforting dreams.
Something pushed into her back with nearly enough force to knock her out of bed. Ellie’s eyes jerked open she knew that there wasn’t a chance of getting back to limbo land now. Her back was nudged again.
Ellie groaned aloud, partly in irritation but mostly in exasperation. It was that bloody husband of hers. Brett was doing his pissing dance again. She sat up and grabbed her pillow. Ellie was about to whack him when she saw just what he was doing.