Dusty and dry plain had huge gaps in it enough to swallow a man. Sometime I was tempted to jump in one of them and end this suffering. I would sit on the edge of one of them and look at the dept. I dreamed of falling inside of it and hit every rock on my way down. I move my head left and there it is a storm approaching, but it is far away and it never came here. It just flashes and thunders there, too far to walk over there. If rain would’ve fallen, it would close all of these gaps and maybe my tomatoes would grow. I don’t know why I keep planting them when they never grow, so it is dusty in the back of my home.

Through the walls, there is the wind blowing, bringing this red dust inside so every couple of hours I broom the wooden floor. If rain would’ve fallen, it would wash the floor and drizzle from the busted roof.

I lie on my broken mattress and look at the flashes of the storm through the window. There is always the light coming opaque from the clouds, never comes the night, just this motionless time, this same old’ image of landscape, a nightmare I wouldn’t wish to my worst enemy. If rain would’ve fall, it would wash this dirt off of my face, wash away my sins and take it out in the streams of red water.

I sit on my front porch, look at the flashes, hear the thunder, but it never comes, never closer to me. I must be alone in this place. There are no other houses, no tree or a hill in the horizon, nothing. This is nightmare.

Clouds roll in the distance, it is hypnotic. If I had tears, I would’ve cry, and the tears would’ve wash my sorrow away, but they don’t come to my eyes. It is a wonder of why I don’t grow thirsty or hungry. I never went to take piss or take a shit, just waiting, broom and sleeping. Occasional walk is how I pass the time, the time that stopped for everything except me.

Many times I tried to reach the storm, but I wake up in my bed in the morning. There were days when I walked for days without sleep and still I ended up in my bed. There were days when I would jump in the hole in the ground, but never fell to the bottom. I always woke up in my bed. This is nightmare.

This is nightmare.

Nightmare bz Vyache

Painting by Commander Vyecheslav Kantor. Don’t be shy and ask him do paint something for you too.

9 thoughts on “Nightmare

  1. Pingback: Nightmare: How to draw for Dronstad? » Vyacheslav Kantor

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