Asleep at the Keys
Asleep at the Keys by JC Combs
I am asleep, dreaming of typing obscure thoughts – elephants, speck of chipped paint distorts, sudden conversation, shadowless objects, shhhh. Xi Hu Longjing in a bag, protesters, pigs, blood-sucking aphids, daffodils; peering into a curved mirror, volcanic glass. “Wait, I know the name, don’t remind me.” “Mercury,” she interrupted. “Jupiter,” I replied. “O Father Sky God.” She laughed. I smiled. “Juno and Minerva,” she continued. “Feel free to interrupt me.” We both laughed as the Sapphire skyline gave way to Amaranth. Gusts of wind pushed against our backs and around and around. A figure-eight medley. We sat atop the cliff, legs dangling over the edge, dreaming. “Not just yet,” she said. “But a dream is always short,” I consoled her as now she was sad. “Sometimes,” she whispered faintly, “it can go on seemingly forever.” She elaborated, but the sound of her voice had disappeared and a flash of lightning broadcast across the canyon. A thunderclap followed.