Issue 3 - Fever Dreams E-Zine

FLASH FICTION > MINDSALADby Dave LudfordI t was advertised as a sensorydeprivation experiment: you volunteeredand they buried you alive beneath hardwinter earth and left you there to rot. Itfelt good; now you can rest, sleep.You were told the neighborhood wasperfectly safe at night, safe enough towalk out after dark unmolested. Youwent, were mugged, ended up havingyour throat cut. You are resigned to yourown stupidity.You were assured that the android you’dhired was hardworking, human- friendlyand would provide good company duringthose long lonely evenings. After a fewhours in your apartment it took anelectric heater into your bathroom,plugged it in and dropped it into the tubwhere you were relaxing, soaking awaythe day’s troubles. Fried you to a crispinstantly. Peace, at last.You were urged to bite off the head ofthe black serpent that protruded fromyour mouth; writhing, mesmeric, deadlyandyou would become one who laughedand one who shone. So you bit, and thepoison that spilled out killed you instantly.Never trust the serpent.ABOUT THE AUTHORABOUT THE AUTHOR“I will never, ever leave you” she said, justdays before abandoning you for anotherlover. Your brief but idyllic relationship liesin tatters. Bereft, heartbroken and in total,utter despair you throw yourself beneaththe speeding tube train. Or you throwyourself from the top of the apartmentblock and hurtle toward the ground at body- breaking speed. It doesn’t matter which;details are vague but you are deadanyway. No return ticket, and you cannotbounce. But you are incapable ofconducting relationships and accept yourfate.Day six. You awaken from an incident- freeslumber. No more nightmares. No moredreams of death and disaster. You arealive, but are incapable of living. You havebecome the living dead. Stressed, worndown, your life force is gradually ebbingaway. But you are disturbingly aware thatyou are capable of dreaming your owndemise. Your mind has become a summersalad riddled with worms; vile, corrupt,poisonous. Nothing is what it seems. Howeasily the dark side overwhelms you. Howbitter are the fruits of the earth.Then- you turn away from the apartmentwindow, away from the bright start of abrand new day. And you think, recallingschoolboy Shakespeare:-“Is this a dagger I see before me…?”It is within reach.Dave Ludford is 48 year old writer of poetry and speculative fiction living in Nuneaton,Dave Ludford is a 48 year old writer of poetry and speculative fiction living in Nuneaton,Warwickshire. He works for small company manufacturing luxury soaps for living. UntilWarwickshire. He works for a small company manufacturing luxury soaps for a living. Untilrecently he wrote fiction entirely as hobby, but has begun taking his writing morerecently he wrote fiction entirely as a hobby, but has begun taking his writing moreseriously in the past six months.seriously in the past six months.FEVER DREAMS ISSUE 3