nightmare excerpt from an unwritten story

the figure of a woman begins to take shape
emerging from the darkness beyond the funneled hues of the street lamps
materializing in the haze of the rainfall

the streets are deserted
and i stand in the center of a four-way intersection
as all four traffic signals perpetually blink red like an alarm clock returning to life after a power outage

and despite the cold january rain pelting against my body

i am warm
mostly from running
but partly that i can feel the traffic signals
like they're inside of my skull
like heat lamps pulsating against the inner membrane
like a high fever
like a pounding
like cut wrists spurting life in rhythm
to the metronome in chest

my head aches
i try to catch my breath

she draws closer between every strobe of the signals
revealing a little more of herself in every flash

i try to take a step back
but i cannot move

and it's not when i recognize
who she is
that sends the troubling feeling
up my spine

it's when she is about a sedans length from being within the intersection
that I realize she is not walking
and that her feet are
dangling below her
suspended about an inch
above the asphalt
levitating towards me

and ever closer

and it's flash
and then closer
flash and closer

and then her skinny fingers flickering
open and close
reaching out
eagerly anticipating contact
like a game of marco polo

her mouth unhinged
hanging agape
as wide as munch's "the scream"
the rain pattering
the hum of the lights
the only sounds to be heard

her eyes now visible
unnerving and noticeably
dilated to an unnatural size

closer now

and i can see that she's naked
her long black hair heavy with rain hanging down each side of her neck covering the areola of each breast like parted curtains showcasing a drab backdrop of tan human flesh
a navel at center stage

i open my jaws
so wide that i feel a tear occur
at the creases of my weathered mouth

but there is no sound

just rain
just electrical hum
just the faint clicking sounds
of bulbs sparking and dying in unison

just the ghost of my breath twisting away from me in the cold winter air

my throat having gone dry

her hands
grasping ahold of my shoulders
her eyes
as black as wishing wells

the clouds crashing into one another

the color red
making her face appear
at quarter note intervals

so close
that we could be mistaken

for lovers