Dreaming with Senses

I can feel it. The hair on my arms and legs. They’re fluttering. What is it? This movement? It feels like a hundred thousand miniscule tickles. Should I open my eyes? Am I outside? I better look.

It’s blue. A translucent blue, with depth that I don’t quite understand. It’s bright. It’s warm. The kind of warm that your skin greedily drinks in and your body tries to remember on cold winter nights.

What’s under me? It’s green. There are millions of them. They’re itchy. They’re all I see.

I gather myself, place my hands onto the ground, hear the soft protests of tiny blades folding under my weight. Grass? That’s it.

I stand up. Look around. There is nothing near me. What about further away? I scan the horizon. I see blue. I see green. I see nothing.

I look down. My toes are wiggling. They like it here.

Should I stay? Can I stay? Perhaps. Perhaps not.

I lay back down, invited by the flat plain. I close my eyes. The breeze starts to fade away as the world calls my name.

This story has no comments.