writers_loft | Prolouge, maybe?

I originally wrote this piece as an entry for a contest, but I just want some feedback
on it, and maybe I will continue on with it. Just tell me what you think.

"Rosa," he choked. His voice was the same thick velvet that I had always remembered.

The blackness wavered and he appeared, standing in front of me with a lost look in his eyes.
They were still the same deep brown color I had fallen in love with; they captured me in just
the same way they used to.

He stepped forward, and I saw a tear slide down his pale cheek.

"Rosa," he repeated, "I'm waiting for you."

He was so pale. His face, his arms, everything; pale like a porcelain doll.

Another tear ran out as he dropped his head at my silence. He looked so real, sounded so
real. Somewhere deep inside I knew he that he wasn't, that he couldn't be, but I wanted to believe.

"Chris," I whispered.

He jerked his head up at the sound of my voice, taking my hand in his icy cold grip. His hands
were hard and lifeless. "I'll be waiting forever Rosa."

The air wavered again and his image began to fade. "Chris," I whispered again as he continued
to dissolve into the darkness, as if I could somehow pull him back.

"Forever Rosa, forever I will wait," his voice echoed through the sea of black emptiness as the
dream fell apart.

Suddenly I was awake, sitting up in bed. The blue glow of the alarm clock radiated out, dimly
illuminating the small room. It read three thirty-five.

Everything was silent, except for the faint buzzing of cars in the distance. I pulled back the curtain
above my bed, peering through the blinds and outside. The street was empty and tinted with the
night, except for the neighbor's glowing Christmas lights.

I half expected someone to be walking around; drunk and lonely, looking for his way home and
not remembering that he had none. But the neighborhood was still and undisturbed; an eerie
essence pulsing through it's darkness.

Feeling my eyelids get heavy I laid back down and thought about my dream. My dream about Chris.
When was the last time I'd dreamt about him? It must of been months ago, before the accident.

I felt sick thinking about it. I turned onto my side, succumbing to the sleep.

And again I dreamt.

***

I was immersed in endless white; I could hear whispers all around me.

"Yeah she's the one... her boyfriend was killed... it's horrible... I can't imagine..."

Whisper after whisper, they wouldn't stop. I tried to block them out, covering my ears and squeezing my
eyes shut. But they kept drilling themselves into my mind. They wouldn't stop.

Reading it now, as I type it, I think, "Wow, what shitty writing." It sounded so much better when I read it
aloud. Please, any feedback no matter how harsh.