Post-Mortem Dream

Emil bit through the rough, bark-like skin of the red sky. He gnawed and chewed with his formless mouth, making a bigger and bigger hole until the cosmos gaped with a wound large enough for him to fit through. Though, as he did, he fell. From his loudly chanting cloud casket he descended at the pull of the world below. Leaving his dead body above and behind, in another realm, he contemplated not his human husk. For he was something else now, dreamed up in the last remaining moments of his flesh.

 

As he fell, he thought of his existence and doubted it. He then realized that in doubting himself, he had proven his own existence. If I did not exist, surely I would not be able to form such doubts! He reasoned as the ground rushed to meet him.

 

With a loud poof, Emil hit the top of a hill in a small town, amidst a few squalid houses and black pine trees. He rose, unharmed, and examined himself. What’s this? I am covered in ash. He thought as he tried to brush off the debris. But, he soon found that he was not covered in ash, but WAS ash. He looked around to gauge his surroundings, remnants of his human mind looking for patterns. It was then he spotted others, who were also ashen in form. “Greetings!” Emil called out, in a voice like that of gravel thrown upon slate, to one nearest himself, who turned and regarded him with massive rusty eyes. They waved him over, with a single, slowly decaying arm of soot. They then walked away, as if encouraging Emil to follow, while whispering of reviving the dead.

 

Curious, he did, and soon saw others of similar form marching parallel. They were all congregating downhill, and after following these other dust people for a short while, he came to a large crowd surrounding a wide well. All were incanting of coming dawn.

 

Emil joined the ring of ash pilgrims around the well just as a bright light began to rise from it. With a sound like thick dripping and a smell like sun-warmed soil, a brilliant  orange orb ascended from the well. The great gathering cheered at this and all began to rush forth, holding up buckets. “Collect the light!” They all repeatedly screamed in unison as the horizon darkened. They seemed to thirst for the light born of water.

© 2020 Rahaman Writing

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"Approaching the docks, we heard the violent smashing of wood and the clanging of metal being pounded through the cold veil of white mist that hung in the air by the coast. With a sudden gust, the pale haze cleared to reveal a beast from the brine like none I had seen before or after my time on Kioshell Island. It was roughly the same size as the fishing ship that had ferried me here and was in the process of tearing apart a vessel of similar proportions with a cold fury, pausing only to fling away huge bits of debris or adjust the monstrous maw that was its shell: the living, partially decomposed head of a sky serpent.."