Ficlets

I’m sleeping, but I’m not.

I’m standing on the edge of the ocean, surveying a scene in black and white. The surf’s coming in, spraying the gray sand with thick white spray. There’s music floating softly on the warm breeze.

The scene shifts, and I’m standing on a dirt road, staring as the path I’m on meanders off into the woods. The trees crowd the road, which is really a path, leaning inward toward one another. The music is louder here, but when I look around, everything dissolves.

The scene shifts again, and I’m in a room that I’ve never seen before. A girl, with her back to me, playing the piano. It’s a beautiful, confusing sort of tune. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. As if sensing me there, watching her, she turns around. She looks at me, hands me a rose, the only object with any color in this greyscale scene.

I hear something. Open my eyes and realize it’s my alarm clock. When I reach over to shut it off I realize there’s something in my hand – the crushed petals of a single red rose.