Still Life.
Christine’s bare feet sank into the dew-soaked grass and she tried to decide whether she was dreaming. She was in a grassy field with no recollection of how she got there. The sky was going dark. She was, for some reason, dressed in nothing but a thin white gown that was almost transparent. An enormous willow tree drooped over her head. Nothing was familiar. Yes, it seems like a dream, she thought, but she still wasn’t sure. Everything felt solid and tangible. She could hear her heartbeat. The air was so crisp that it stung her throat when she inhaled; had she ever noticed her breathing in a dream? Something rustled in the grass nearby. “Hello?” she said. Her voice sounded strange. It was like hearing an echo come out of her own mouth. “Is …