The Walking Dead

I don’t know how I ever slept that night, but nevertheless I must have, for I awoke to a beautiful spring day. The dawn was just peeping over the moors and the early morning fog was gently rising in the stillness. All was silent, but it was a peaceful silence; like that of flowers nodding in their sleep and a nectar-laden wind whispering endearments to the trees. I was curled up on my side, my curls draped softly around my face. I thought, pleasantly that that horrid night had only been a dream. Just a dream- there was nothing to fear. But I was wrong. As I combed my hair I noticed what looked to be a tear in the lace of my nightgown. I was positive it had not been there the day before. Becoming worried I proceeded to examine my throat in the mirror, and to my astonishment and terror, the very faint outline of hands around my throat, and faint purplish-blue bruises were forming on my neck.
No, but my attempted murder had not been a dream. Not in the least.