There is a moment, between sleep and awakening, where dreams are real and life a dream. A moment where the wild fancies of dreamland feel so tangible, so vibrant, that you question the world you know as reality. Some days, the dreams are dark, the monsters under the bed creeping from dark shadows, and you run to the light of morning, relieved to find it all a dream. Other days, you bask in the dream-state, in a place of magic and whimsy, and upon waking, fight the bitter bite of tears for the lost possibilities. Until the dreams come again.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020

The two cosmic beings circled each other, stars seeping from their open wounds. Theirs was an eternal battle, a dance filling the universe, changing the course of fate. Neither had won, nor lost, but their moments of ascension or defeat altered the flow of time, destroyed galaxies, and birthed new worlds.

They hissed and writhed, swirling in a nebulous web before solidifying to land another blow. They knew not why they fought, only that it had always been. They lunged, moving in harmony, synchrony, antipathy.

Their battle cries echoed across the cosmos,

Until one cut short,

Trailing a hollow echo in its wake.

The victor released its opponent, stunned, lost. It had won, but what to do with the victory? It had never known anything beyond this, this immutable, sacrosanct conflict. They had been older than time, the creators of the universe. They had been duality, and they had been unity. They had been life and death, hope and despair, the both of them. What would happen without them, together?

—

She felt a shiver run up her spine, like an icy claw slid its way across her skin. She looked over at him, seeing her own shock in his wide eyes, in the tremor in his hand.

“Did you feel it?”

He nodded. “It happened.”

“The real question,” she whispered, grasping for his hand, “is what happens now?”

Inspired by a writing prompt from Writing Prompt Generator.

© The Lightning Tower, 2020