I don't usually dream.
Tonight, I do.
I'm back in the desert.
It's him and me.
But it's different.
He's a shadow. Barely even that.
A fata morgana.
He's sliding away, beyond my grasp. Disappearing into the perfectly constructed horizon.
I should be calling out to him, but I already know it will be in vain.
There's no point wasting breath on something that's already set in motion.
I could go after him, but he hasn't left a trail for me to follow.
There's no place for footprints in a perfect desert.
No leaves to step on, no twigs to break.
Not even a cliff to wander aimlessly off.
I could say I don't believe in symbolism, but that would be a lie.
It's one of the only things I believe in.
There are no smells.
No sounds.
Only me.
Is this how death feels like?
Disappointing.
I stand still. My only option.
Something flickers in the distance.
Probably just a mild fluctuation in the wind.
But the wind never changes.
I take a step forward.
It's still there, whatever it is.
Waiting for me.
I start walking.
Predictably, the scenery doesn't change.
Everything is set in place. Immobile.
I need to reach the horizon, but the idea in itself is a paradox.
Never stopped me before.
I keep walking.
The distant image is becoming more defined, but I still can't capture it entirely.
Just a few more steps.
Rain starts to fall.
Everything is distorted, imperfect. But the clarity is somehow more prominent now.
I narrow my eyes and force myself to look ahead.
It's a shape now, but trapped in incompletion. Missing something.
I reach out to feel it, and it turns to me.
A horse?
There's a light nudge on my shoulder, then everything diminishes, folding into a nonexistent pocket universe.
I open my eyes.
The sun is barely out, peeking uncertainly through the remaining shadow veils. But even this counts as oversleeping.
Damn it.
He's dressed already, prepared to face the new day.
I'm not sure I am.
"You okay?"
I sit up, dream fragments gradually receding into oblivion. Leaving nothing but a vaguely uneasy feeling behind. The less healthy type of paranoia.
I pull my pants on.
I haven't answered him yet.
But I don't have an answer.
"Do you dream?"
His mouth takes a crooked shape, and he releases a small snort.
"Don't ask."
Don't tell.
I pick up one of my boots. Pass my thumb over the rowel, causing it to spin. Like a rodent caged in wheel.
Reminds me of someone.
A stinging sensation makes a meek plea for my attention.
I glance at my thumb.
Blood.
Funny. Never happened before.
He sends me a quizzical look over his shoulder.
I shake my head dismissively. Proceed to pull the boots on.
"Let's go."
Can't keep the mission waiting.
We head off.
I never dream again.