By Dorothy Allison, Scott Jacobson
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The chief asked. Dorothy sighed. "I guess so," she said reluctantly, never having discussed anything of that nature with a stranger. "I haven't had a moment's peace in a month," Dorothy began. "I saw this kid drown on December third, at six in the morning. I wrote it down when I woke up. Never before have I had a dream like that. It was so real that I felt it through my body. " the chief asked. "The doctor said a blood vessel broke from tension. " "What would you like me to do, Mrs. " "Maybe you'd recognize the description of the little boy.
The crisp, white chalkiness of the lilies glowed before her as if she could hold out her hand and feel their soft textures. The lilies of death, as her mother called them, had an eerie beauty that held Dorothy's round gaze. Death, not her own, would influence her life greatly. One day Dorothy would wake up and see death at work, but many dreams and years would pass before that night. At this moment all Dorothy wanted was to be held by her mother and told that nothing unusual was happening. Fear kept her silent, however.
No, not exactly. " Dorothy considered the best way to impart what she was trying to say. " the chief was trying to understand. "I did. In my dreams. Or rather, in a vision," she stammered. The chief's light red brows rose. "In a dream, you say? DO you often have dreams of this nature, Mrs. " "No, not too often. I've had some incredible dreams in my lifetime, but not too many that I discovered to be real," she explained. The chief looked at Dorothy. She seemed to be perfectly rational, though nervous and slightly excited.