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Sheets of Sand

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He dreamed of Anice.

She was sitting on pebble-smooth boulders under the cliff, staring out to the sun as it burned, dying down in Peach and Cherry passions. The sea was the color of plum slicked in oil, spotted with its night stars. She glances towards him, showing the right side of her face. It wasn't the ash that fell where her hair would've flown in locks of Ebony, nor was it her jaw that dropped to the soft sand and cracked, shattered, flew away as dust into the wind, nor was it her sunken eyes, bone hollow and as deep as a cavern, that made him race away from the Amber-glown dream. It was her shriek, horrid, repulsive, a thousand eagles crying out, monsters from deep inside her throat, tortured and unbroken...

He woke up spread out under the thick sheets on the mattress. the sun was peeking through the window, flaming its cherry and plum passions across the bedsheets, along the walls. Soon the sun will set, and all that will remain will be a soft sigh and the sand between his toes.

He dreamt of Anice.

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