Short Story: Dream / by Heather Taylor

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

Photo by Sarah Taylor; Story by Heather Taylor

It was easy to make. A quick flick of black, the spray smooth and even. The red an afterthought to bleed into what she’d already done. Chuck had given her the stencil so it was only a matter of finding a space. There were rules here she never thought about : the wall had to be the right colour so the image would stick out, the place had to be hidden enough so no one would see what you were doing but had to be visible enough so everyone could see it when it was made, and everything had to be done at night.

Emily was never one for staying out all night cause it worried her parents. But since she ran away, none of that seemed to matter anymore. They wouldn’t understand that she had to find herself and she wasn’t sure how to do it but after Chuck…it’s been easier. He said once that we make our own dreams but too often those are taken away by the government, our parents, people who like to flex their power. So we have to take a stand. He said that as they laid in bed, smoking a cigarette between them. His fingers, nicotine stained, traced their way across her body and soothed his thoughts into her. Made her forget that she hated the taste of his roll-ups, made her forget how long it’s been since she layed in clean sheets and dreamed her own dreams. How long it’s been since she’d been home.