I dreamed last night.
The sky glowed maroon.
Clouds flowed like Van Gogh watches in mist.
I balanced my toes on the tassels of our flying carpet
and muttered into my father’s ear,
listing reasons to dock on land.
But the mountains swung jagged beneath us,
crusted with pre-dawn celestial glow,
and the air clung to my fingertips.
And as the colors brightened by quantum leaps,
I relaxed.
Then events happened
and things changed brighter
and more virulent still –
then dark.
And a quiet voice asked me a question from the black:
What is the worst thing in the world?
Instead of the previous, fuzzy babblings, something clear as a drop of water slipped from my throat.
To die alone.
A gutteral gasping grating groan.
With that, my eyes took in the blackness around me, I realized I hadn’t died and I was awake.
What is the worst thing in the world?
To die alone.
And silence.
Goodnight.