I dreamt I drank the last of the cranberry juice this morning. It was almost too tangy in that unsweetened way, but I drank it anyway, enjoying how the liquid slopped and slid against the cheap glass. I watched in appreciative dream induced silence, observing the way it left watered down crimson notches, much like scarlet coffee lines, to mark my steady progress.
And when I woke up, the near constant presence of the cat was absent, and nose-bleed reminiscent blood hung on my lower lip and chin. Licking my lip tentatively, I found it tasted like cranberry juice.
And when I woke up, the near constant presence of the cat was absent, and nose-bleed reminiscent blood hung on my lower lip and chin. Licking my lip tentatively, I found it tasted like cranberry juice.
Submitted to Psuedopod (R), Drabblecast (R), The Washington Pastime (R), Untied Shoelaces of the Mind (R), Dark Discoveries,
