The sky is black, streaked with cotton-white wisps.
All around vague shapes, familiar in the way a glimpsed face calls forth the memory of an old friend, yet his attention is drawn always to the House.
Illuminated from some hidden sun, it alone glows bright, unearthly white. He knows every detail, hard and sharp even as the whole swims in a mist that he can only briefly penetrate. Each window a black gap in the slowly wavering fabric of its walls, hiding only emptiness, and yet...
He knows She is there. Not seen nor heard, only felt, always present.
Stepping through the treacly grass, feet held back by... what? No concern of his, only the need to reach Her.
Motion defied by the ever-receding facade, as in a dream. This cannot be a dream, though. He senses everything with such force, even as the picture ripples, shifts, fogs.
Fades.
5:35 AM - Slapping his alarm clock, he dresses quickly, facing the wall so his glance won't fall on the empty pillow. Looking out the window as he gulps down the first coffee of the day he expects to see some half-recalled... no, nothing there.
No comments:
Post a Comment