Just a Dream [originally from 2004]

Heavy panting breaths; footsteps on dry twigs; snapping branches back in the distance; barking dogs; the sounds of men's voices carrying in the dark, cold stillness of the woods; and the sounds of tired aching feet on the dry, friable earth were the only sounds heard on that autumn night. The forest, overcast by the canvas of leafy branches, was completely dark with the exception of the few scarce beams of moonlight and the glow from the torches in the distance. The darkness made it hard to see. Tripping over a fallen branch or log or maybe even an unearthed tree root seemed inevitable.

The crisp air held the lingering smell of the autumn day, slightly refreshing when there was a chance to take a breath. The chase had been going on for hours. A minute's rest scattered here and there. Rest was desperately needed.

Swift moving eyes, and the dim light from a faint moonbeam gave the brilliant idea to duck for a rest under a heavily shadowed pine tree. The heavy scent wafted for quite a distance. The perfect hiding place. Crawling under the low reaching branches proved more difficult than anticipated, each bit of wood trying to grab clothing or scrape exposed skin. The smell seemed to seep into every pore of the body. Safety for at least a few moments. Quickly, breathing became light not because it was slowing, but more through forcing the body to stop gasping and control it. Quietness fell over the secret hiding site as the mob of townspeople approached.

Stopping no more than ten feet from the tree, the mob circled and talked of going back to town to get rest. They spoke of continuing the search the next day, in the daylight. A few were against it at first; after all, their fugitive could cover plenty of ground in that time. With how long the hunt had been going, it took little persuasion to convince them too. Torch at hand, the mob headed back towards town. Shame seemed to silence the dogs, following their masters with lowered heads.

As the last light of the torches faded, slipping out from under the pine tree was easier then it was to go under it. A few quick swipes and silent pats knocked a great deal of pine needles off while standing. The smell lingered, but that would be an asset for continuing to run.

A man stepped out from his own hiding place. There was no escaping. He held fast as he cried out for the mob to return for their quarry.

It seemed like moments passed before the mob surrounded the two. Then began the onward drag back to the town. Pushing and shoving, the mob put force into bringing their victim back to town. 

They awoke the town officials and led them to the town green where the gallows were set up. Within a matter of minutes, the noose was readied. The coarse rope tightened around the neck of the escapee. No trial was given; that was never the plan. The crimes and pre-determined verdict rolled off the council elder's tongue: heresy and witchcraft, both earned a death sentence. The chair was quickly knocked out and...

…I sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat and panting hard. With quivering lips, the only thing to tumble from my lips was, "Thank God, it was only a dream." I rubbed my throat gently, the memory of how the dream ended making the rope cutting into my neck feel all too real.  I felt a warm, sticky wetness in that quick brush, and pulled back my hand to look at it. In the dim light of the moon through my window, I saw fresh blood.