We set out for owning the world.
For one day. One night.
The frenzied motion feeds my dry throat with the adrenaline I need. The world has never been this unusually quiet. We meander through the empty streets. The sound of the rusty engine fills the distilled silence. The glee on their faces reflect the same on mine. Our raucous laughter thunders across the drowsy afternoon sky.
I open my eyes again and find blankness, stretching far till the blurred horizon. My eyes keep open for longer than usual, only to squint shut in a teary haze. The sun was too bright. But a hand appears before the harsh beam, reaching out to me entreatingly. I grasp it in an eager hold and at once I am brought to my feet.
We are at the beach. The narrow junction between the threatening sea and the wholesome town. The land of the nomads, wayward lives. The land of sleepless nights and bewildered days. Before my eyes, the sea, outstretched as far as the cosmos lies. Its depth challenges me with unspoken words. Its vastness mocks at my nullity and insignificance.
And in a few moments, we're running.
I take this moment to revel in my youth. I watch with amused eyes, the little follies, games and chuckles they indulge in. Like they have not a care in the world. I decide, that it is the most beautiful thing I have seen. The thought crumbles into ashes as my eyes chance upon something.
A person.
She stands on a deck, a few hundred meters from the area we have claimed 'ours'. Face hidden in shadow, body bent. Yet from such a distance I can tell, that her eyes are sharply staring right into mine. And I notice just a tinge of something else in them too.
Nostalgia.
I step back into my surroundings from the surreal moment as I feel a pair of hands tugging at my arm. I glance at my feet and realize that they are bare. I feel the sand, still wet from the deceiving touch of the treacherous sea. It is just a mirage of what once had been.
I feel the urge to look up at the disfigured silhouette on the deck. My eyes dart up only to be welcomed by void, once where a soulful person stood. Maybe, she was like the wet sand I stand on; the temporary work of water over land.
A mirage. A mirage I'd gladly believe in again.
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Short StoryWe must dream, watch them shatter, fall apart piece by piece, agonizingly slow. We must dream again, before reality becomes a truth we can never wake up from. A parallel and gradually converging story of two different personalities of the same per...
