Into the ink

I had a strange and vivid dream. Here is my attempt to describe it…

A man walking alone along the sidewalk across the busy bridge saw it first.

He gasped. And he stopped. And he watched.

Something like a giant ink spill shot from the sun. It was impossibly huge, stretching from the sun to near the earth’s atmosphere in an instant. Then it snapped back like elastic dough back into the sun.

And again it happened. Again. Again. Again.

Others soon stood beside him, their vehicles parked where they stopped, quickly clogging the road.

People lined the bridge to watch to sky.

Some shaded their eyes, and squinted as they gazed toward the sun. Others wore sunglasses and their arms lay limp at their sides, seemingly powerless to lift as they watched. Most watched through the cobwebbed bridge supports with mouths open, dumbstruck.

For all who saw, there was a knowing. A deep, dark, awful, and instant realization that what was happening was inescapable. All they could do was watch and wait to see what would happen to them.

There seemed to be a pulsing, an unstable heartbeat coming from the sky.

Another ink blot shot out from the sun, but this time it kept coming toward the bridge. Falling from the sky, casting its shadow.

People began to scream. They ran. Slow motion. The first man on the bridge stood still and watched, unable to move. Staring into the approaching darkness as it moved like a soap bubble toward him, he saw emptiness.

The ink spot splashed down to the earth covering part of the bridge with darkness. It missed the first man, but he watched as it covered the woman beside him. She faded away into nothingness.

Confusion in her eyes.

Gone.

The man looked to the sky. More darkness was falling. His paralysis turned to fear, and he ran. Toward the city. Toward the skyscrapers.

More darkness fell to earth, splashing around him as he ran, covering all it touched.

Reaching the end of the bridge, he ducked into an alley, and found a metal staircase that led to an entrance.

The man found himself on a loft, looking down on a wide open space.

Through the wall, an impossibly large fish swam through the air. Its sharp teeth floated through the wall first, followed by a round, dark eye, then an oval body and finally a dark tail. Its silver scales had a matte finish. The fish watched the man, who slowly walked toward it, down the stairs to the main floor. He reached out toward it. Before he could touch it, the room faded to white, into emptiness, into pure absence.

Slowly, gently, the delicate silhouette of a lighthouse took shape around the man. Yet there was no sound from the sea and no smell from the salt water.

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