The Sorrowful Shores of Dream

The lights came on in the room, jarring Melissa awake. In the doorway stood Tim, unsteady on his feet. She blinked at the bright light, a little disoriented from the rapid transition of dream to reality.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" Tim slurred. "I had to eat a fucking cold dinner, cause you wouldn't wake me up."

Melissa rubbed at her eyes, and said, "Tim, I tried to wake you . . ."

"Shut up, bitch. You didn't!" He interrupted, stumbling towards her. "If you had, I would have woken up. I was just dozing. You could have gotten me up. But you didn't care enough to do it, did you?"

He was standing over her, breathing down on her with his fetid alcoholic breath. She tried to back up, out of his reach. Tim saw this and reached out, catching her by the hair. He wrenched her head back, and leaned close into her.

"Did you? Did you, you bitch." And then he slammed her head back into the head-board, and Melissa's vision filled with stars. Before she could react, he punched her in the face, splitting her lip. She cried out, and Tim's eyes widened. His vision seemed to clear a bit, and a startled look came over his face.

He sat down beside her on the bed, and cupped his head in his hands. He began to sob and whimper, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry . . . why'd you make me do it, Missy? Why? You shoulda woken me up . . . then I wouldn'ta had to eat a cold meal, and I wouldn'ta gotten mad. I'm so sorry . . . "

Melissa held her jaw and cried. But his accusation angered her, and she spat blood at him. "Fuck you - don't you blame this on me, you dumb old drunk. It's not my fault you're a worthless, alcoholic worm. I hate you. I hate you!"

Tim stared at her in shocked horror, and then, when she spat blood at him again, a killing rage came upon him. His hands closed into fists, and he lunged across the bed, grabbing at her. Melissa tried to get away from him, tried to back off, but she was caught up in her blankets, and Tim managed to take hold of her shoulder. His iron grip closed around it, sending pain through her body, and he pulled himself across the bed, over her. He slapped her several times across the face, and punched her hard in the stomach. That left her winded, and helpless before him. Then he reached out and grabbed her around the throat. Tim, in the grips of his rage, shook her like a rag-doll. The breath was choked out of her, and as he continued to throttle her, Melissa's vision dimmed, slowly fading into darkness.

When she ceased struggling, and stopped moving altogether, Tim got up off of the bed and stood over her, looking down at her frail and broken body. Melissa stared up at him, eyes squinting from pain, filled with tears, her vision blurred in spots.

Tim continued to yell at her, blaming her, accusing her. His fists shook, and spit flew from his mouth. The pain and fear began to recede from Melissa, as she concentrated upon each ragged and wet breath that was torn from her throat. She stopped focusing on Tim, and stared past him instead. There, in the far corner of her room, was the dark shape of her dragon. His eyes glowed like fiery purple coals against the darkness of his scales, and she thought that there was a look of sadness upon his ancient face, if a dragon's face could ever be said to demonstrate emotion. The dragon seemed to come closer, stepping in between her and her husband, and she wondered how it was that the dragon - who was so much bigger than the tiny room - had fit inside here. Then the darkness overtook her vision finally. . .

Above them the twin moons hung low in the sky. Below them, dolphins rose joyfully from the infinite waters of the ocean. Beyond the black sand beaches, elves danced their sacred dances, and to the east ran the herds of wild unicorns. Melissa clung tightly to the back of her black-scaled dragon as he raced across the skyline, and the tears that fell from her eyes were tears of joy, for there was no sadness in this world of dreams.