Combat Boots

Sunday morning, I got up and immediately craved Christopher's blood. Laeddin still wasn't home and Gatsby was gone. I hoped he was okay. Last night he promised to tell me about Sharra, but he wasn't around.

The dream or vision or whatever still lingered in the back of my mind. I wasn't sure what to make of it. Was I seeing what was truly happening or was it all a lie? I had a feeling it was similar to what happened between Christopher and me. It was real. If that were true, and I believed it was, the whole thing scared me.

After I dressed in jeans, my combat boots, and a plain black tee shirt, I went to the window. Sunlight peeked through the clouds. A light wind blew. Leaves that should've turned brown and died weeks ago rustled in the breeze. I tapped the glass, trying to decide if I should listen to Gatsby and leave the window open or do as Troy suggested and close it.