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Summary
Duncan was not a superstitious or spiritual person by any means. He did not believe in an afterlife or a higher power. But dreams were an entirely different matter.
He’s been dreaming of her for as far as his memory allows him. She stood in front of him in her white, off the shoulder, stola. At least he thought it was a she, he was never really sure. There was a low hanging fog in the area they were in. He hesitated in calling it a room as it was only a white abyss. She reached out for his face.
“Jerrazah.”, and he heard her voice.
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“Duncan, it’s chow time, get up! You’re gonna miss your ride.” His cellmate threw a pillow at Duncan’s head and then left the cell. Duncan stared at the ceiling of the cell, his eyes wide open in shock. “...Holy shit.”