Jarrett sat upright in his hotel room bed. The dream about an angelic battle during World War II woke him from an unsound sleep. It was a dream he wouldn’t soon forget. His pulse raced when he saw the Angels battle, as if he had something to do with the female with black wings who had lost. He wanted to help the woman. Something inside of him made him feel protective toward her, a feeling he had never felt about any woman before.
When she dove, he felt the wind against his own face. When she went to parry her opponent’s blade, he felt anticipation. When her wing had been injured, he wanted to step in and fight for her.
The woman with black wings intrigued him. He saw her determination during the battle. He now looked back at the dream, and thought about her. The angel with black wings had the finest figure Jarrett had ever seen. She had wings, which was odd, and he was dreaming about World War II, but . . . something made his pulse race when watching her.
Now he sat there in bed, his mind had forced him to wake up at 2:00am on a Tuesday morning, he had only a few more hours of sleep before his workday started.
He laid his head back down on the pillow, maybe he was being a bit fanciful, it was just a dream after all. He lay there thinking a little bit more about the dream before drifting off to sleep. Another dream a bit more pleasant than the first came to him.
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