By Randi Carlton, a Finalist of NewsPortalSite’s Writing Contest
“Things are quiet out here.”
Greffyn Layre lay on his back, loafing in a sea of sand. He let the
sun pour upon him, penetrate each pore and heat his blood into
submission. His eyes closed and he could still see the sun. His eyes
still shut, he imagined that the sand was slowly moving, that there was a
current and fair breeze that was carrying him away to some paradise,
some spot where the hope of all the hopeful had concentrated and created
something called life or beauty in motion. He let the burning of the
sun and of his desire lull him into a dream soaked with insanity and
warm sloth. His mind felt like a melting mirror.
In his dream, a girl approached him on liquid silver wings. Her eyes
were round and wide and looked like two orbs of black. Her mouth was
stitched shut by a golden thread. She flew before him, landed on her
knees, and began using her hands to shovel sand into a silver sieve that
appeared from out of the sea of sand. She cried as she performed her
futile task and she dissolved into the sand along with her tears. The
sand then dissipated and the world around Greffyn was green and full of
life. Then, from the fluid shadows in the distance, Pandora approached
carrying her box in her marble limbs. Her movements quick and then
staggered, she approached Greffyn and opened the box so that he could
see. Sand and decay and bones flowed from her box and drowned out all of
the trees and the green. Greffyn leaned over to look inside her box and
saw that there was an island of green amidst a sea of sand. An island
of hope amongst an eternity of despair. Pandora stared blankly at
Greffyn with eyes more beautiful and fierce than the sun. Sand began to
flow from her box once more as she ascended into heaven.
Greffyn came out of his dream slowly. He got up and looked around,
his eyes wide. Everything? everything was dead. The decay remained.
Greffyn could not remember if what happened was real or not.
“Maybe? maybe it meant something.”
He began to dig through the sand with his bare hands searching for some trace of green or the top of a buried tree.
* * *
End of Dust Storm.
About the Author
Not content to slip into obscurity.