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Happy Easter, everyone!
The following snippet is from my novella, The Sandman. Alex Steele has been injured in a car accident and in a coma discovers the dreams she is having of a serial killer are not what they seem.
I couldn't see the color of his eyes although I knew that they were a brilliant green, nor could I see his blue jeans and yet I knew he was wearing Wranglers with a pair of worn out, scuffed and battered ancient cowboy boots. He wore a red flannel shirt, left open with a white Hanes wife-beater underneath and his light brown hair was a little on the long side. He wore Axe body spray, a scent I knew but didn't recognize and he smelled of Listerine that was barely concealing the odor of tobacco that you could smell if you got close enough.
I knew all of this, although I couldn't see him clearly then, and I knew much, much more by the time I could. I also might have let this all pass me by without another thought, and in fact, I did somewhat, making it hard to remember and by the time I realized I really needed to, the weeks had turned into months.
The dream might have faded away all together into the gray of what was my damaged brain at the time, disappearing into the oblivion of my memory completely if he hadn't grabbed the young girl right in front of me on that sunny February afternoon.