Waking Dream

The sun screamed.

John, death-marked, dragged on dumbly through the willow trunks, deep in unheard thoughts. The shrieks of playing children pierced his body. He felt he was going mad.

He stopped beneath the shade of an oak. He surveyed the river flowing by. He lay down. Green coolness kissed his balmy flesh, and it was if a smothered voice inside gave out, and wept.

His body melted into earth, and the sound of the breeze through the leaves was too blissful to bear.

A bird singing; a child laughing; above, the clear blue sky; breath, breathing.

Death-marked, his heart throbbed heavily, but slowly, he fell into a dream.






The End

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