Micro fiction


1 minute read

As David woke up his eyes blinked, pupils adjusting to the clarity in the bedroom. In the seconds that followed, his dream dissolved from his conscience, like steam vanishing from a mirror; its afterglow quickly archived in the oblique drawers of memory.

The young boy did not know it yet, but he often dreamt about the future. Occasionally, he saw fragments of the following day; other times, slivers of the distant future. The ghosts in his dreams would speak to him in confusing moments of recollection, as if reminding him of events he had not yet lived.

This time he had stood at the top of a hill; in front of him, a field of dry, scorched earth. Below, thousands of people reached up with their arms, as if begging for salvation. Towering above them, a semi-human figure floated in mid-air. David could not see its face, blinded by the radiant sunlight that erupted from its skin.

David did not know it, but this was to be the end of everything.

Tonight the ghosts had told him,

“Do not be afraid. This is just the beginning.”

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