Dream Sequence 88: Silver
He wakes with glossy, wet hands, which were pinned to the ground by several pieces of yarn. In a former life, he was a Gideon. If scripture is correct and the code is daybreak, then it is time to hang the blinds. A threefold problem:
1. he is the last to arrive,
2. his house is made of glass, and
3. the hardware stores have sold out of paint.
The woman on the sofa warns that the water supply is infected, and the pile of stained towels in the corner corroborates her story. So he turns off the shower. How about these sunglasses? No, the darkest shade of blue is the first warning. The local news replaces paid programming. She says a glass of orange juice is the only option for an internal baptism. Remember me as a whisper when your liver sings hosannas!
While drinking, the night uniformly weakens. [How not to capture a glimpse of the ever-elusive instant.] What now after the dark flash? His palms create suction when pressed together. As expected, the carpet where he slept begins to blacken. She cleans out the largest kitchen cabinet and begins to crawl inside. He interlocks his fingers. There are only two holy colors, and he knows skin is not one of them.
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