Dream Weaver

This is something I wrote a few years ago that was meant to be part of a now defunct larger project. I still really like it as it’s own little piece of abstract fiction though.

 

I am sitting quietly, surrounded by deep blue sky and stars.  I reach out to the stars and pull their light to me, spinning it into thread.  I weave, using the loom that sits in front of me, turning the strands of starlight into a blanket.  The pattern in the cloth is more intricate than I can follow, but I don’t need to worry, for the thread patterns itself.

Something approaches, a shape darker than the surrounding night, blocking some of my stars.  It wants my blanket.  It wants my loom and the thread.  It wants to keep the stars from me.

We fight, though I sit still.  We do not touch, yet my soul grapples with the darkness.  Finally, it leaves.  I do not know who won, if either of us did.  I can still see the stars, but their light no longer reaches me.  I still have my loom.  The blanket is there, though the pattern is fading.  I blink and the pattern is gone.  Rain falls from my eyes.

I do not know what to do, so I go back to what I have always done.  I reach out to the stars.  I cannot see the strands, but I can feel them between my fingers.  I weave, knowing the blanket will never be complete.  I cannot see the pattern, but I feel it wrap around my heart.

Somewhere, someone is calling my name.


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