Grey Symmetry

I had a dream.

The Sun rose thunderously above the level horizon. The iron flowers gleamed. The stone grass threw its longer shadows, leaning on the scorched earth. everything was symmetrical even the absence of Memory.

Everything was uniformly trimmed – the former sea with former waves included.

and only a mysterious and made of plastic silhouette was standing, looking with no eyes, even plastic ones. there were no nuances there were no contrasts. evenly cut, fiery-merciless light.

Rivers were incredulously solid,

surprised in an instant of impetuousness. Even sin was dead because there was no good or bad because everything was dead as nothing else.

Wherever.

There were no somewheres. There were no somewhens. there was not a being.

there was only a plastic silhouette. Death waded slowly into the petrified grass and off its scythe with metal hiss fell crystal flowers. Behind was only sand. No footsteps. Death was satisfied.

Silent but content. It had been waiting, patiently, sometimes in small and dark, and hidden crevices. Sometimes was under beds of couples making love. gathering tremendous strength.

Man was restless.

His left hand warned his right that many things were dying when touched. His right ear was faintly catching whiff of weird stories.

About premonitions.

Faded dreams. And lifeless goals. Assumed tomorrows and procrastinations of the soul. Then Death stood up and petrified every living thing.

People froze in mid-smiles, half-questions on their faces. Birds, like nailed to the sky, were fixed.

Death just continued to mow every sign of life once lived. Ever more leveled. No more. No less.

In the end there was just sand. Fine, almost colourless. Hot. Sand... I had a dream.

A dream had me.