Sleepwalking my way through life: Sweet dreams are made of these...



Sweet dreams are made of these...

The squeaking is so loud, and each box shudders violently as the contents try to fight their way free. There are a few dozen of them, boxes piled on boxes sitting on top of a huge hill that overlooked the city. The wind blows hard and rain begins to fall from the grey sky. Far below, cars slip In between buildings with their lights leaving red trails behind them. The squeaking becomes louder and the boxes rattle loudly, drowning out the noises of the city below.

I shift around and grimace slightly, my eyes squeezing shut.

A man walks up the hill and places a foot on one of the boxes, resting his arm on a tattered knee and surveying the city from under the brim of his top hat. The wind lifted the hat off his head and carried it away from him, but he stuck out his weathered cane and caught it before it flew too far. Long wavy hair spilled out onto his shoulders, the colour as black as night.


I huddled into a small ball. My hand reached out and pulled the blanket around my shoulder, as if it served as protection from what was to come.

His coat was a deep purple, the colour as dark as his eyes. They looked over the rooftops and scanned the buildings that scraped the bottom of the clouds. They were so dark, but there was the smallest glimmer within them, a hint of intent behind the placidness. He twirled the cane between his fingers – the gold tip shining despite the light from the squall – before bringing it down heavily on the box beneath his foot. He smiled.


I smiled.

The front of the box fell open and a swarm of rats flooded out. They stuck together in a large brown mass and ran as fast as they could down the hill. Every other box opened simultaneously and rats poured out of all of them. The hillside was no longer there, it was replaced with a river that flowed mercilessly down into the city below; ready to run through the streets to cause havoc and mayhem everywhere they ran. The squeaks ran together and created a calamitous noise, drowning out even the loudest thoughts.

Soon the last rat was gone, and the man stared lovingly at the city. He took the old top hat and placed it carefully on his head before tucking the cane under his arm. He swivelled on his heel and walked down the other side of the hill, away from the city. He smiled broadly, and the twinkle in his eye grew brighter.


β€œIt will always be the dream.” I murmured, and fell asleep again.
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1 Comments:

At 5:04 pm, Anonymous Elisabeth Ice Cream said...

And the memory. Really good post Joe, made me smile. I like the fact that you use the italic to tell the story even better.

- Coffee-bean

 

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