Hope lies in dreams, in imagination and in the courage of those who dare to make dreams into reality.
I stood in a void. Another canyon. Negative space. Water trickled down its heart and fell into infinity.
"I want to go to this place. Right here. I mean, look at it."
"Harrumph. It looks like something out of Star Wars. You know, those walking weapon things. What were they called?"
"Stop. Who wouldn't love their very own steel-and-glass pod on the side of a mountain in the middle of a wine valley?"
"Self conscious architects, maybe?"
It's happening again. I'm having that insidious, looping bad dream. I am blind. Instead of murky pitch, my vision is scrubbed of color. Tones recede until they become intelligible needles at the edges of my sight lines, twinkling a last gasp of varied hues before falling into blankness.
My neighbors hate me. All of them. They're lying in bed, still hung over from a long night of boozing and video games, when I rev myself up.
I'm a loud girl, you see. When I get excited, I can't hold it in. It's impossible to keep quiet.
I must moan.