A Short Story

I dream of the box inside the darkness again:

A tantalising darkness, an unknown sensation surrounds a minuscule hand crafted wooden box containing such a vast amount. When opened it seems to consume you, to burden you to a complacent subdued level. If you were to look inside it you would view what would seem like an ordinary supermarket: shelves and shelves packed with items which relate particularly personally to each person on the planet; a home  to each life form  on this earth, containing every segment of their entity. Crafted by an outside force it is a consumerist prison of life with all the perceived ‘luxuries’ inhabiting it. I stand within this prison of the unenlightened, with the ‘world’ busy around me, glimpsing the true darkness ruling the skies. The box is opened so I may escape, although I remain standing, reluctant to leave this familiar dimension in which I dwell.

I awake feeling the same sense of confusion I always do. The rains constant beat against the roof seems to calm me as I tremor through fear of this obscure reality manifesting within my apparent imagination. Tossing and turning in the comfort of my bed; palms sweating, not from heat but from sheer panic. By now I feel I should no longer feel this dismay, yet the dream just feels so tangible.

“For I’d rather be a pebble in an ocean vast and drown alone
then make no sound”

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