Awake, I sit up, hair matted with sweat. I gasp, like his hands are around my throat all over again. The past doesn’t like to stay in the past, it seems.
It always feels so real. But it’s just my mind, tangled inside. He is gone forever.
Wait. Something moved in the shadows.
A Writer... Blocked 
ugh. PTSD is real. for sure. =( hope this was fiction…
nice use of imagery here!
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Sadly, I did experience domestic violence. It has been 11 years, but it does stay with you. I haven’t included it in any writing in so long though.
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i am so sorry and saddened by your experience. you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but have you ever talked to a therapist or a counselor about it? even if it was long ago, those memories can resurface and be so painful- having a counselor can really help.
regardless, your writing is concise and so vivid. thank you for sharing.
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I think horror exists in that place between what you *know* is real and what you *feel* is happening. This is a vivid illustration of that idea.
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Thank you, Christine!
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The imagery in this piece is very vivid and captures the fear of the protagonist brilliantly
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Thank you!
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A very relatable description of the aftermath of a nightmare.
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That moment, waking, in a cold sweat. I could feel the gasp of breath as you come to waking.
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