At the End of the Day

At the end of a long, hard day at the office, Carolyn wanted to punch something. Or cry.

The best thing to do, however, was to crawl into bed with her iPod, turn on some 2BP, and dream of Bob.

In her dreams they were always married, living together in a simple bungalow on the outskirts of Nashville. It had one of those wide southern porches, so on warm summer nights they could sit out and watch the sunset while Bob played his guitar. Carolyn would make cool lemonade, and when the crickets began to sing and the fireflies bobbed in the shadows, Bob would pull her into his arms and they would dance until the stars came out.

The images were always warm and fuzzy around the edges, and emotions and sounds were too sharp and bright to be real, but Carolyn reveled in every moment. Their marriage wasn’t always happy, in the surreal world of dreams, and sometimes Carolyn woke aching with the realization that she’d hurt the one man she loved...

And then she’d remember that she’d hurt him years ago, and he was never coming back.

Tonight, Carolyn was going to crawl into her nest of blankets, turn on her music, and dream of a world where her hands weren’t stained with blood.