The Dream

My feet are bare and bleeding.  Fucking pinecones.  How can something so perfect cause so much discomfort?  I feel like I've been walking for hours, I don't remember when I lost my shoes.  It's dark ahead, and getting light behind.  I'm running faster, chasing the night, and still these fucking pinecones!  They're everywhere!  A neverending sea of fractals.  Sharp fucking fractals.  And I'm running faster, toward god knows what.  I don't even know why I'm running, but my legs have taken control, pumping under me like the pistons of a steam engine, hurtling me toward an unknown destination.

And suddenly it's snowing.  The pinecones are gone and I'm standing on the edge of the ocean.  My footprints in the sand are dark--whether it's blood or water I couldn't say.  My breathing slows as the waves wash over my ruined feet, salt stinging in the open wounds.  The air smells like pitch.  Dark and dangerous.

I'm still looking for pinecones.  I can swear I see them in the crashing waves, seeking out the rest of me.  My shins, maybe, and then my knees.  Searching out every inch of flesh until I've been shredded away into nothing.

But they are only waves.  Washing calmly onto shore in the midst of my confusion.


*from a writing exercise we did in a workshop today.