Fever Dream #2

Snail

Photo by Wolfgang Hasselmann on Unsplash

Wake up. There’s a snail on your bed. It’s big, round and has eyes on the stems on its head. Look again. The snail is you! You’re on the bed, with a hard shell on your back, and eyes on the sides of your head.

You don’t stand like a human. You don’t walk like a human. You don’t talk like a human. Heave your shell onto your back and crawl over to me. And whatever you do… don’t let go of your shell for life. Got it? Without a shell, you’re just a slug, a pasty tube of slime and crap.

What is a shell even good for? Protection? If I step on you, it splinters all the same, a bunch of cracked shards on top of the aforementioned pasty sludge. It’s slightly more tedious to clean off the pavement. A home? Yes, you don’t have one, even in your small little brain. It’s never safe in there, isn’t it? Your eyes on the sides of your head, they aren’t there to keep watch anymore, aren’t they? Those two balls swirl around and capture everything that can kill you, a breaking branch teetering on a single strand, the neighbor’s inquisitive cat, a misplaced foot that goes plop. But you can’t outrun any of them.

And the truth is, you can’t hide away from everything. You’re only a snail with a hard shell.

This series is part of a writing project: Fever Dream

Fever Dream #1

Train

Photo by Chris Galbraith on Unsplash

A high-speed train zips across an endless, inky sea. It is like a thin, metal snake that splits the black water and tears towards the sun dipped horizon. Occasionally spotted along its long, cold husk are small, square shaped windows that emit a crimson, red light.

A girl in pigtails and a dark green backpack peers out. Her round, brown eyes rest easily on the fading light along the horizon line.

Girl “Peter.”

“Yes?”

A man’s voice rises behind her.

Girl “Will there be a BigMac at the Edge?”

A deep chuckle.

“Definitely.”

Girl “Will there be giraffes and zebras and puppies? Will there be post offices and police stations and basketball courts?”

A pause. She sits up and turns her head-

“-It’ll be whatever you’d want, kid.”

She returns to gaze back out of the train. It is like always- propping her elbows up on the ridge and letting her face pool into her warm hands. With every exhale, a small, hazy cloud slips out of her nose. It’s… nice. It could just be her imagination, but even though she knows that dusk is coming, the sunset looks bigger and brighter than it has been all her life.

She has heard so many stories about the Edge, they’re so crazy and fantastical that she hardly believes that it’s real. But tomorrow, she might wake up there. She can’t wait.

This series is part of a writing project: Fever Dream