Sandman

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Sometimes I hold out my hand into empty space. I like to imagine things draping from my hand. Pearls, sapphires, rubies, gold, diamonds, the list goes on. The end of this fantasy is a now respective conclusion. Whatever I imagine is in my hand turns into sand. It feels like sand flowing quickly through my fingers.

I’ve retained my teenage interest in decay. Watching those time lapse videos of decaying fruit and animals. I don’t do that anymore but the idea of decay remains. What I find interesting about the sand is I don’t mind it flowing through my hands but I don’t like it when the sand stops. If the sand is going to flow let it flow under my control. Let it stop when I want it to stop. It can’t though. It only decays the things that were once in my hands. What was one so beautiful and prized by me is as finite and the sand it produces. 

I had a dream of myself on one side of a cliff. In front of me is a narrow ravine with a big drop to the surface. Across from me is the other cliff of the ravine with a line of people. This line stretches for miles beyond. One after the other people from the line walk up to the edge of the cliff and jump off. They jump off to their deaths. One by one. They do this with a look of serene resignation on their faces just before they jump. They wait patiently in line to do it. Many have been waiting a very long time indeed. Some it seems all their lives.

At first I’m horrified at the actions of these people as well as their lack of opposition or fight against their fate. They do scream as they fall but it sounds almost hollow. It sounds emotionless like a robot. Their bodies crash and thud on the rocks below. The fall doesn’t kill some of them but severely and fatally wounds them. They writhe in agony with no sound and hide their faces of pain. 

One by one they do this. One by one. Continuously they jump. The line doesn’t get any smaller. The sky is a milk coffee white. There is very little colour around me and there’s a mild breeze in the air. I don’t understand why the people are doing what they are doing. They don’t speak. Some give me a very faint smile before they jump. I feel powerless and my screams don’t resonate with them. None of my attempts to connect with anyone receive any acknowledgment. I stand on the other side.

After a while my horror reduces despite no change in what the people are doing. They become what I wanted from my sand. They are endless. They flow endlessly. They are reliable. I know what they are going to do. There is such acceptance in the air and a connection to them I cannot explain. After a while their bodies seem to me to fall in slow motion. Flailing arms and wind blown clothes. Each one is slightly different as they fall. It turns into something beautiful. Like a dance. An endless dance. I play music in my head as I see them walk up and fall. I don’t feel as powerless if I can project beauty onto such madness. 

Eventually I feel nothing for them. Nothing. I think nothing of them. This sounds like a very depressing dream doesn’t it? Strangely though it never makes me sad to think about it. It’s quite relaxing. A pure feeling. As pure as the white of it’s sky. As gentle as the wind on its grass. Perhaps it’s a dream about ending or maybe control. It reminds me that almost anything can become acceptable and tolerable after a while. Emotions drain along with thoughts. Maybe that’s what happened to those people. Perhaps they were wondering why I was not in line. I think the most powerful thing about them is they really had nothing at all to say.

 

 

 

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