Nightmare

(Note: This 300-word uber-short story was written for the Refined Fool Brewing Co. contest where selected stories were printed on their craft beer labels. Let me know if you get one.)

“I had the worst nightmare ever,” my pregnant wife declared as I strolled into the kitchen on a lazy Sunday morning.

“Is that so?” I replied on my way to the refrigerator.

“You were at a café with another woman.”

This peaked my interest. Particularly because I don’t drink coffee. “What was I drinking?”

She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I don’t know. Whatever you always drink. Beer or something. Anyway, you were with another woman. I can still see her now. She was gorgeous, and you two were draped all over each other. Stuck together like teenagers. It was sickening.”

“Was she drinking beer, too?”

She ignored my question. “I said to you, ‘What the hell are you doing?!’ And do you know how you replied?!”

“Having a beer with my not-pregnant girlfriend?”

She ignored my joke. “You said, ‘I’ve had it with you. We’re done.’”

“Ouch.”

“Right?! Can you believe that?!” She rubbed her protruding belly, allowing my heartlessness to sink in. “I was so mad. And then I felt that anger inside of me. Like my stomach was on fire. I could feel the baby swirling in a pool of lava. And then there were little explosions all over!”

“Oh my god, that’s crazy,” I replied, grabbing the tomato juice from the fridge and turning toward the cupboard.

She stepped in my way, glaring at me. Her face was beet red. She continued rubbing her tummy.

I couldn’t help but snort-laugh at the absurdity of her being upset with me for something that happened in her dream. I had nothing to do with it. But I figured an apology would grant me passage. “I’m sorry. That must’ve been horrible.”

No dice. With teeth clenched, she looked me dead in the eye. “Who is she?!”

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