Slave's Nightmare -

She lifted a finger to where her lips would have been. Shh. Then she pointed to the corner.

The chains never came off, not even in sleep. In the dream, I was running—always running—through a swamp that had no end. Moss hung from the trees like gray ghosts, and the mud pulled at my bare feet with every step. Behind me, I heard the dogs. Not barking, but breathing. Heavy, wet, hungry. And behind the dogs, the horn. That low, moaning horn that meant the master was coming. slave's nightmare

The faceless woman rocked faster. You, she said. Not with a mouth—with the air itself. That is you. Before you learned to run. Before you forgot how. She lifted a finger to where her lips would have been

Because the nightmare was not the running. The nightmare was the waking. The chains never came off, not even in sleep

A root caught my ankle and I went down, face-first into black water. I did not scream. I had learned not to scream. Screaming brought them faster. Instead, I crawled. Hands and knees, through cypress knees and rotting leaves, until I reached a cabin that was not there a moment before.

I tried to wake. I always tried to wake. But the dream had teeth, and it would not let go. The boots in the boy’s hands became my hands. The lash on my back became my breath. The horn became the only music.