Washed Up

The first man that had washed up ashore was still lurking in the far reaches of his unconscious mind, twisting and contorting his now pruned body to match the distressed manner of his dream state. The second, after unintentionally inhaling a mouthful of salt water, swiftly sat upright in a panic to splutter out the foul liquid from his lungs. As he rises to his feet he notices the first man laying in a peculiar position beside him. He attempts to snap him out of his slumber by shaking him vigorously, which he accomplishes much to the now conscious man's displeasure.

“GET OFF OF ME!”, he shouts as he pushes his aggressor away. The two men awkwardly stare at each other, but the tension fades when a faint red beam of light illuminates them and then disappears into the distance. The two men, both now on their feet look around them in all different directions. The coarse, black, shadow-scarred sand they stand on, The grainy, bleak sky above them and the dreary, desolate landscape they look upon are an indication that they are far, far from home.


Why do I dream at night? a tapestry of better yesterdays, at a loss for what has come and passed. We live in our memories, looking through a mirror of regret while visions of the future seem pointless. It is our past. It is our past that forever haunts us. Why? It seems as if we want our tomorrow to be our past already. Why do we want to fast forward our lives. Are we afraid of what is to come or what might happen if we fly too close to the sun? Are we going to burn? Will the wings that lifted me up smoulder and disintegrate from the heat of my future? Stuck In constant fear that what goes up must come down, would I ever be able to get back up again?