The heat of sleep saturates me and throws my body into sweat. From dream to hallucination and back again, my fingers clutch these white surfaces, like layers of a grieving subconscious wrapping me more and more tightly. Like confusion. Like terror in waking.
I dream that everything has burned, that everything is gone, that my grandmother who never cries is crying. Heat rises on the horizon and we can only run. I dream of loss and I am afraid.
When I awake and return, the fever breaks, like so many waves.
And there is only a horizon to remember.
For more flashes prompted by this week’s photo, and to learn more about flash fiction, visit Madison Woods and explore.