I jerked awake. The familiar dream began to fade. I could feel a rocking motion beneath me, and I looked down to see that I was lying in a pool of dried blood on the bow of a yacht. I rolled over onto my back. Directly above me was the underside of our bedroom terrace. I could not remember arriving here.
My left hand hurt, and I realized my fist was clenched. As I opened it, four tiny trickles of blood seeped from indentations in my palm as my husband’s wedding ring fell from my hand. The boat rocked again, and a subtle rattling broke the early morning silence as the small, gold circle rolled across the smooth wood of the yacht’s bow.
-From the forthcoming novel, The Vesuvius Isotope