The Dream – Sunday Photo Fiction

© A Mixed Bag 2009 [Synthetic Alien Head, National Space Centre, UK]

Once a balloon, surely. Partially deflated, gruesome.
Not human. Floating in the dream.
Stuck in a box, that face,
familiar of the dead, after the catafalque, before the earth.

Why ochre? Silica, aluminum, oxyhydroxide.
Umber, sienna, rust, burnt orange.
A fire, then. Splitting the light in sliced red flame.
She can feel the heat.

The origin of this delusion?
One of the books her mother snatches from her, likely,
neurotic, protective, insistent she
can’t bear the consequence of carnage.

There was a dybbuk at the window once,
smirking, malicious, restless
to possess a living soul. That one
was not conjured from a fable.

The filaments of this dream scare
her, convert her resolution to be
strong into a maelstrom. This
jack-in-the-box-like thing is evil.

The dream fades but her investigative
instincts linger, demanding she consider
what this deformed, incorporeal being
endured. She is an empath, deflated now.


Word count: 148

For Sunday Photo Fiction July 30, 2017. The challenge is to create a story/poem of 200 words or less based on the photo. See lots of other bloggers’ entries here.


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