A Dead Woman

Once, Michael saw, by himself, something that terrified him. It was a gorgeous, windy, half-golden day, the leaves swirled in mystic patterns along the concrete path that he jogged on. He wore some Express skinny slacks, cutoff just above the knee, and a $200 Christian Dior thermal, grey, pushed up on his veined forearms. His hair was lengthening, and it bounced on his forehead, blew in the cold wind. He wore some Polo slip-ons for shoes. The sun danced in and out of dark grey clouds, and a dead woman stood far ahead of him in the middle of the jogging path.

She wore an old-fashioned Victorian-looking dress, covered in bright flowers. Her shoes were high-heeled white boots. She carried her Brightly smiling head in her right hand by the hair. Her neck was pale; her throat–hole was turning white, the skin was jagged, and purple veins drooped over the edge of her neck. There was no blood. Her hair was dark and beautiful, and her eyes were bright blue, opened wide, and she was smiling with vampire teeth. She grinned at him, and he kept running toward her, his hands clenched, his face twitching, her beautiful curls blew around her eyes, and he watched himself run closer in her eyes, her sharp teeth gleaming, she must have had her teeth whitened before she removed her head. He stopped about thirty feet from her, the wind picked up and her hair blew in front of her face again, covering her eyes, but her grin continued.

The wind dropped and her eyes were visible then, as bright as mirrors, as Bright as tombstones. He observed his own powerful form in her eyes. He stopped about thirty feet from her. He calmed himself and focused on her eyes. She did not move for a long time, and neither did he.