The 4th night of spring

Reads: 188  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 4

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
For those of you that don't know the 24th of march is the 4th day of spring, and the equinox occurs on the first day of spring. Lucid dreams are dreams you can control and can become very addictive and can endure over huge periods of time. I had a comment stating my content is a little short so added some length. Please enjoy the story and i hope you get the end twist!

Submitted: May 05, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 05, 2013




On the 4th day of spring every year,

a man, he drives.

He isn’t travelling, nor following the road under hedonism.

He drives to escape,

and every night on the 4th day of spring he leaves his home,

but to escape what or whom?

The dilapidating buildings, the archaic community?

Neither of the aforementioned.

Twas 16 years ago on this night he intertwined his life with his lover’s,

He gave his life to her, devoted himself,

and she took his ring.

The ring he chose so adequately,

The ring he worked under blazing sun for,

The focal goal of his life for 8 months.


If one is obstreperous there is usually a cause,

His wife’s; her instinctively curst demeanor,

Resultant of his absent mind.


He often dreamed, and dreamed and dreamed.

And when awoken, he felt hungry and dazed

In the midst of daylight he adjusted to reality, again

For he could swallow more sleep than the earth’s mass alone.


Is it wrong to dream? Is it a crime?

He never believed such a notion

Though his wife opposed,

The antithesis of his fantasy

The lock on the door


After time his belief was eventually degenerated into an ideology

She murdered his speech at every chance.


Consistency is key in conformity

and her oppression was the sky.

Splayed over him at every corner of his dreams

And omnipresent in his reality


He never slept on the equinox

Though he would try

It’s often difficult to find solace in the cold


But when he couldn’t slip under the compass

to his lucid palace.

He slipped under the radar

And drove, and drove, and drove


On the 24th of March of this year

Was his first failure to sustain incognito

He had ran up the stairs from below

And clashed into a vase on his 16th escapade

His wife awoke for the last time

For the sound was disrupting and quivered in the bounds of the house


She checked the basement

But Tom had fled

And without question she fled after him


His haste was greater

He had left before, and was driving

On the road he found peace

Though a temporary solace,

Every corner he turned was a smiling mouth

And every roundabout, a glaring eye


Though it was the 5th smile off a narrow road he wish he hadn’t encountered

His town was small; the roads always lead back to one another


He turned onto Premonition close

And didn’t slow his speed

For he was in his element

He was scarcely elated

Oblivious to reality


She crossed the road unaware of the headlights,

The roar of the engine


And within a parameter of a second

She flew,

Upward to the gates,

Though on arrival they were not pearly

But demonic


He got out of the car, and crouched at the corpse

Though he didn’t see his lover,

he could only see the past.

© Copyright 2017 Glen Bevan. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:










More Thrillers Short Stories

Booksie 2017-2018 Short Story Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Glen Bevan

Mother, Parent of all.

Short Story / Poetry

The 4th night of spring

Short Story / Thrillers

Prout Infida

Short Story / Fantasy

Popular Tags