Circles and Paradoxes II

Lucid Dreaming

I don't usually dream.

Even my subconscious finds it superfluous.

A distorted remix of useless information, existing only to invoke misdirection.

But there's an exception to every rule.

When I do dream, everything is clear-cut.

You could pass your thumb over the edge of reality, and it would bleed.

The way it should be.

There's no East and West.

No good and evil.

Those ridiculous conventions don't exist.

None of the consequential mess.

There are only two halves of a whole.

They're complete opposites.

They're the same.

Warring titans.

The wind whistles around us, sharp and biting, and completely untainted. The desert is drawn in deep shades of red, creating dramatic foreshadowing.

The gun is a Platonic ideal. The purest manifestation of a weapon. A concept in physical coating.

A part of me.

"I've been waiting for you."

He doesn't say anything.

He never does.

The wind keeps blowing, mercilessly slicing away anything that doesn't belong.

It's me and him.

Nothing to get in the way.

There are no smells.

No sounds.

Only a feverish reality hanging in suspense.

I reach for the gun.

One moment left.

Draw.