Absence Is To Love 2
By: Olivia
"Noooooooooooooo! Monica, noooooooooooo!" John was screaming as he sat up in bed, sweat drenching him. His heart was racing. He tried to get his breathing back under control.
John looked around him in the darkness. He was in his bed. It was a damn dream. Nothing more than a dream. It had all felt so real though. His heart wept at the thought of that hell ever being a reality.
John instinctively reached for his portable phone. He pressed the numbers that had become so familiar to him except for the last digit. What the hell was he thinking? It was just a dream. No reason to wake Monica up in the middle of the night. He would see her tomorrow morning at work. No reason to bother her now or frighten her. She'd think his dream silly or worse, think it some kind of sign.
But John cast his mind to the dream and hit the last digit. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep unless her knew that she was okay.
It seemed like eternity that the phone rang and then, "Hello, you have reached....."
John angrily hit the off button on his phone and threw it on his bed. Damn, answering machine.
He threw off his sheets and got out of bed. He found a pair of jeans amidst the darkness and began to get dressed. He had to see her.
A few minutes later found John in his car headed to Monica's apartment. When he got there he raced into her building to her apartment door.
"Monica." John called at her door. He knocked and the door swung open slowly, errily. Something wasn't right. John drew his weapon.
John pushed the door back and entered Monica's apartment slowly. He let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. He slowly moved through her apartment, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom. No sign of Monica. No sign of anyone for that matter. Frustrated, John went back to the living room. He found a lamp and turned it on. Before him lay uttered destruction. There had been a struggle. John felt something squishing beneath his feet. It could only mean one thing he thought fighting a wave of sickness. John looked down. The carpet next to the coffee coffee table was soaked in blood.
John's heart was not beating as he instinctively reached for his cell and began dialing 9-1-1.
By: Olivia
"Noooooooooooooo! Monica, noooooooooooo!" John was screaming as he sat up in bed, sweat drenching him. His heart was racing. He tried to get his breathing back under control.
John looked around him in the darkness. He was in his bed. It was a damn dream. Nothing more than a dream. It had all felt so real though. His heart wept at the thought of that hell ever being a reality.
John instinctively reached for his portable phone. He pressed the numbers that had become so familiar to him except for the last digit. What the hell was he thinking? It was just a dream. No reason to wake Monica up in the middle of the night. He would see her tomorrow morning at work. No reason to bother her now or frighten her. She'd think his dream silly or worse, think it some kind of sign.
But John cast his mind to the dream and hit the last digit. There was no way he was going to be able to sleep unless her knew that she was okay.
It seemed like eternity that the phone rang and then, "Hello, you have reached....."
John angrily hit the off button on his phone and threw it on his bed. Damn, answering machine.
He threw off his sheets and got out of bed. He found a pair of jeans amidst the darkness and began to get dressed. He had to see her.
A few minutes later found John in his car headed to Monica's apartment. When he got there he raced into her building to her apartment door.
"Monica." John called at her door. He knocked and the door swung open slowly, errily. Something wasn't right. John drew his weapon.
John pushed the door back and entered Monica's apartment slowly. He let his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. He slowly moved through her apartment, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and finally the bedroom. No sign of Monica. No sign of anyone for that matter. Frustrated, John went back to the living room. He found a lamp and turned it on. Before him lay uttered destruction. There had been a struggle. John felt something squishing beneath his feet. It could only mean one thing he thought fighting a wave of sickness. John looked down. The carpet next to the coffee coffee table was soaked in blood.
John's heart was not beating as he instinctively reached for his cell and began dialing 9-1-1.
