Raising Hell

The shower head drips slowly cease, the plopping splashes echoes quieting in the small bathroom. Jane combs out her hair, the fresh feeling of a warm shower preferable to the slimy stink of sweat and anxiety. Relaxed and reflective, Jane tries to make sense of the dream that woke her so violently. Each time she brings those images to her mind, she only comes up with fuzzy recollections. Walking out into the main room of her motel, she begins to slip her clothes back over her body. The fabric and warmth welcome in the cold morning, her body still yearning for the hot sauna mists of the post-shower bathroom. A memory flickers on and off, clouded and muffled. The man, standing behind a curtain of smoke and mirrors, is watching her, smiling. She knows instinctively this is the man she has been looking for, or actually is looking for her. Jane’s stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought of finding him. She knows they were lovers, but the anxiety and reluctance to find him mixes with the need to understand. On the edge of her consciousness, she knows there is a reason she forgot him, but now with all the questions coming to life around her, questions with claws, racking at her from all sides, she needs information. His memory brought her out of her cove, and she now knows he is the one who holds all the answers. Casting the vague thoughts to the side for the moment, Jane returns to getting ready to go back out into the world. She grabs the gun, and nonchalantly places it, hidden and easily accessible, at the small of her back, held by the waistband of her tight-fitting jeans. She doesn’t even notice it there anymore, as if it was made for her. The comfort sends a chill up her spine.

As inspired by this photo by Ari.

I hope it will suffice.