Sweet Dreams

Mar 29, 2008 - 00:11 AM PST

It was a cold night. Stars glittered like jewels in a velvet-lined box and the wind blew through the forest's trees, whispering words unknown. From those trees came the voices of owls as they peered through thick foliage, while from all around crickets could be heard chirping happily to one another. Only their eyes saw what was occuring that night, but they would tell nothing. They didn't care.
Somewhere in that forest a figure could be seen tramping through fallen leaves, his brow drenched with sweat that stung his bloodshot eyes. He went slowly with his head tilted slightly downwards and his teeth clench with strain. His back was hunched with something draped over it...something immobile. In the hand that didn't hold the bundle up he carried what could only be a shovel. His hand, covered thickly with perspiration, lost grip of the shovel a few times and he picked it up, struggling as he rose from his gradually weakening knees.
Hours passed as he trudged until finally he found the spot he had so longed to rest. But he couldn't; not yet. He had hours of work ahead of him yet. He dropped the heavy bundle at his feet and looked down. What he saw was a hole approximately four feet deep and six feet long. He smirked madly as he gazed in, fantasizing, and turned back to his hundred-pound burden. Her eyes were closed, one of them bruised, and her skin was pale. Thick, red blood was drying on her forehead and matted her auburn hair.
He lifted her again, this time with slightly more ease that came only with adrenaline, and dropped her into the hole. There was a loud thump, one that almost seemed to echo in the near-silence, but only the crickets heard it. As the man picked up the shovel, whistling gaily through his yellowed teeth, the smile still touched his dry lips. He forced she shovel into the pile of dirt he had dug up and began to fill the hole, his merry tune steady for some time.
Not a quarter of an hour passed before he heard something: a sound he'd expected to hear before long. A moan, low and pained, came from beneath the loose pile of earth below. He continued to shovel until her saw her eyes, her beautiful eyes. They were a blue that shined through the darkness, and when he saw them he did not panic, as he was expecting her to wake at some point. He dropped his shovel, hitting her squarely on the right temple, and his grin only broadened as her hand raised, pleading, before she fell, still breathing, but never to rise again.
Still the man whistled, and continued to do so as her breathing became even more strained as she inhaled earth until finally she moved no more. He whistled, his eyes shining gaily and his voice unfaultering until he finished. Work finished, he dropped down and lay on his stomach in cold dirt, his eyes closing and a smile spreading once again over his face. Before falling asleep he uttered only two words in his cracked voice:
"Sweet dreams."


A Note From the Author:

The idea came from a dream I had about being buried alive, though, now that I think about it a story from the girl's point of view probably would have been a little more intriguing. Oh well, an idea for next time. Oh, and I was listening to Marilyn Manson's version of "Sweet Dreams" while I wrote this, which was also part of the inspiration. I suppose if I had been watching the video at the time the guy with the shovel (protagonist? antagonist? I'm not sure that this point) may have been a transvestite--a statement which will only make sense to those who have seen the video. Anyway, critical suggestions are more than welcome. This is just a small portion of something I came up with. The beginning of a novel? Novella? Short story, even? We'll just have to see, depending on the reviews.