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Lines in the Sand
Flashes of images. Nonsensical, at first - just brief flashes of colors and light. Like the rapid-fire clicks and popping flash bulbs of an old, old camera. Not a dream. At least, not my own. Memories? No - thoughts. But not mine. Hers. Abigail's. I wasn't seeing through my own eyes. I was seeing through hers. (Abby) (honey can you hear me) She couldn't. Somehow I knew that, though. But I could hear her. (how is this possible) The images were overlapped, twisted, hazy. Hard to understand what I was seeing at first. And then there were her thoughts - a broken stream of consciousness, ebbing and flowing in both volume and energy. She was in a bedroom. My initial excitement at being able to connect to her quickly melted into trepidation. Then fear. She wasn't alone.
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