[Dream]
Roaring. The sound is deafening in the enclosed space, fire and metal melting together with hot sparks and bright pops. The acrid smell of the machine's fuel makes him sick to his stomach, his throat ache and his lungs burn, but it is comforting because it is familiar. These machines, they'll get him where he needs to go. Up. There are the voices of men echoing in the background, calling back and forth to each other. There is a hand patting his arm and he turns look behind him, but there is no one there.
Instead there is silence, a vast black dotted with stars and foggy crystals and small bright lights. They seem so far away, so much bigger than him, but he wonders if he could pluck them from the velvet dark, hold them in his hand. He can't, though -- he can't reach, and so he begins to run, to reach out for those stars. A hand grips his shoulder, hard, pulling him back around, and again there is no one there.
Instead he's sitting in the back of a rumbling truck bed, listening to music and singing, happy female voices that are haunting him, but he can't make out what's being said. Only that there is a wash of gold on bright endless blue sky, and it must be a bit of captured sunlight. Though it is right next to him, he cannot reach.
He has his hand on someone's hand, someone he cares about, someone who does not belong to him. Someone who will be leaving. Their name, their face, their voice, it's all a blur, a deep tug in his heart. "Don't forget me," his dream-voice says, distant and longing. And he is looking up, he's watching the sky because that's where they're going, he's putting his sun back in the sky where it can shine brightly, and where he cannot follow. There is a pain in his chest, and he looks up and smiles.
He wants so badly to touch the sky.
Instead there is silence, a vast black dotted with stars and foggy crystals and small bright lights. They seem so far away, so much bigger than him, but he wonders if he could pluck them from the velvet dark, hold them in his hand. He can't, though -- he can't reach, and so he begins to run, to reach out for those stars. A hand grips his shoulder, hard, pulling him back around, and again there is no one there.
Instead he's sitting in the back of a rumbling truck bed, listening to music and singing, happy female voices that are haunting him, but he can't make out what's being said. Only that there is a wash of gold on bright endless blue sky, and it must be a bit of captured sunlight. Though it is right next to him, he cannot reach.
He has his hand on someone's hand, someone he cares about, someone who does not belong to him. Someone who will be leaving. Their name, their face, their voice, it's all a blur, a deep tug in his heart. "Don't forget me," his dream-voice says, distant and longing. And he is looking up, he's watching the sky because that's where they're going, he's putting his sun back in the sky where it can shine brightly, and where he cannot follow. There is a pain in his chest, and he looks up and smiles.
He wants so badly to touch the sky.