The Dream

This is a story I wrote inspired by a first date I had.

It’s Her and Him, on the wretched path of broken dreams and disappointments. The way is dark and full of horrors, but light from both hearts preserves what little beauty there is left along the road of the dead.

Because we are all dead. No matter any genetical characteristics of any individual, or any desire He may have, any liking She may have, we are, in our uncut, unpolished core, dead. Damned to walk this cruel, unforgiving path that we call Life, with the breath of the Reaper ever on the back of our necks, until one day his old, rusty scythe comes calling for our soul. Regardless, both Him and Her press on, sharing that warming flicker of sun shared amongst the cruelest beasts of all - humans.

They know they can’t do so forever. At some dreaded, least expected point, they shall have to part. They may meet again, however that is not as certain as the fate awaiting us all. But for the time being, small specks of warmth are enough to shed such thoughts away. And thus They walk, cold, dead hands clawing from the sides of the road, and Him and Her, oblivious to the clasp of Death so near, yet seemingly so far.

Time is not straight in moments like these. Time doesn’t travel the same in moments like these. In moments like these, Time is a liberated eagle, soaring through the mist with it’s wings stretched wide. You can’t feel an eagle through the mist.

Yet the eagle lives so little, as we all do, and he comes crushing down in front of Them. His fall brings a sick, horrible grin on the face of the Reaper, and a an even sicker, more horrible thought in Their minds. Time has come to breach Their connection and deny His touch of Her. The light inside the cruel beasts that are our wanderers grows ever smaller, with separation at hand. The path bends to the right, inviting Her, but also goes ahead, urging Him on. She takes a step towards the given direction, yet isn’t eager to leave. She dwindles around, expecting Him. 

He doesn’t take too long. He cups Her head in his right hand, his left grabbing for her hips, and then leans. As They get closer and closer, the beacon inside Them grows stronger than any time before. In a greatly anticipated moment, Their lips touch. A kiss, apparently so little, yet truly everything there is to Life, if there ever was anything. The beacon inside Them is no longer spreading light around, it is booming with the energy of a thousand suns and a thousand supernovas combined, exploding on the path so hated by many, fixing dreams, fulfilling wishes. Reaper’s scythe turns to dust and dissipates, with it’s master dwarfed to nothingness. All that is bad and all that is sad disappears and for a fleeting moment even Time stands still, almost praising that symbol of love we cruel beasts share, called a kiss. 

Then they break away, a grasp so powerful now gone. However it is not a sad break. They breach, They deny each other’s touch and head on their own road, yet Death no longer clings the air like a hungry predator would his prey. The Reaper is a mere child running around playing with his stick. Dead hands no longer grab from the sides and the air seems purified of evil. And then He realizes, that for us to not be dead, but living, we have to love. Our cores are cut and polished by that tepid feeling. We are no longer cruel beasts, but loving, gracious dancers, no longer walking on the road of the dead, but gliding on the plains of the everliving.

He knows this is just a dream. She knows too. All of us do. His and Her roads will, at one moment, separate completely. If that doesn’t happen, the Reaper shall grow his powers back and claim their souls together. The safety love gives is, some may say, treacherous in nature, for true salvation does not exist. But one should not seek salvation in love, since he won’t find it anywhere. The purpose of love is happiness, the happiness that comes with sharing light betwixt Him and Her, for as long as their ways we call Lives allow. With that in mind, He’d be damned if he was not going to give his whole light to Her, and be happy in Her presence for as long as it was possible.

Author's Note

I am eager to receive any criticism on my work, since I want to develop good writing skills.

Reviews

[Ferir]

Quite an impressive read.
The narrator touches upon themes of freedom and death, as well as, what does it mean to be alive? What is the force that keeps us going and not fall into the Reaper's trap.
The duality of how you look at death is also relevant. Reaper is a old scary individual or a "mere child running around playing with his stick". It all depends on how we look at it. It means that death is never a stable negative thing.
Death plays on Freedom. Freedom is being free from chains of existence from one degree to another depending on the rules of society. This is a brilliant example of how death of an individual begins with taking away his/her freedoms of existing and love.
You write a bunch of lines like an essay/review. Your job is to make me figure out that "... He realizes, that for us to not be dead, but living, we have to love." That line sounds like an essay "HERE IS WHAT YOU SHOULD UNDERSTAND", fiction does not work this way.
For next time, when you write, think about what things MEAN and how to hide them so the reader figures those things out.
Well done.

[Theodor-Aron Porutiu]

Thank you for the praise and most of all for the suggestions. I'll be sure to have this in mind next time I write a piece of fiction. :D

[Ferir]

no problem, my pleasure.