Dream Stream

I hold stones in my hands and lucidly wonder where to cast them. Yet still am I confined to this ghostly setting were trees walk by with clawed root. What horror is this that shambles past with nary a glance. I look out as a stream trickles gently past and on some lost whim I toss the stones with no thought for where they may fall.

The first sinks into the stream causing it foam and rage as if in anger, I step back. The second stone hits the far bank and rolls where it will, coming to rest over a leaf.

I gaze at my handiwork as the sky darkens in ominous retort to my carelessness, and I sense an impending gloom is about to befall me in my peril.

The remaining stones clatter as they fall into a deep hole that has appeared as from nowhere. I take a further backward step, for does not a stairwell lead down into the hole, as the stream now roars at my affront. But no, I am no fool to trust myself below ground with no escape from the beast which beckons me to follow.

I surrender to the torrent.