D U N E
- ☾ -
S
he snaps, primitive, then collapses in on herself like a dying star. She wilts in the span of seconds. Spring to summer to autumn to winter- to winter-
to winter.
He hates the way the childlike joy leaves her eyes as she looks down, and the way the dream shifts and darkens to meet her mood. He hates the way she takes a step away from him. “What’s wrong with you, I--” Another step and away she goes, a white star tumbling down into the darkness.
-
Dune wakes with a start and a snarl. “Damnit.” Pure impulse, no thought; he picks up a red ceramic bowl and throws it into the wall. It shatters, spooking the stray cats that had been dozing in his cluttered, dingy, hovel of a home. The very first light of day streams in through the massive hole in the roof, illuminating the dust drifting down from the ceiling, unsettled and apathetic.
“You idiot,” he fumes as he opens the door and steps out into the sleepy predawn morning. “She’d rather step off a cliff than be with you a single second more.” He shakes his head and eases into a trot; the soft sound of his hooves in the sand replaces the scathing self commentary.
Nothing to do now but get to work, and throw himself into it so thoroughly he would have no time to think of pretty dreams and pretty girls and all the other things he’d never have.
Still, even knowing this, he can’t unclench his teeth.
And what on earth are dreams if not our only way of speaking?
