The Nightmare

I had the strangest nightmare. We had put on this fabulous exhibition in the most beautiful massive open gallery. Hundreds had come and really got engaged with the work. People sat on the floor in groups and responded creatively to what they saw. There was a real sense of collective joy and energy.

It was so special that I spent a lot of time capturing photographs of everyone enjoying the space, the art and working together to develop ideas. I was so happy that I really struggled to take videos as I was shaking with excitement so much. I just wanted to make sure that I could capture the magical positive memories forever.

When we left we went back to a house that was not ours yet we clearly lived there. It had a staircase that was impossible to climb and that had strange wormlike creatures on every step. When I went to look at my phone none of the photos or videos had been recorded and all that was there was shapeless blurs. I sobbed uncontrollably 

I awoke with a tremendous sense of loss. Later in the morning I was flicking through my phone and the photos from the nightmare were there

Line

As the train left the station he stared down at the pen in his hand. Worn, loved, a gift to him in his youth he had treasured and cared for it but the years had left their marks

As the journey continued his mind played with the thought the pen was a metaphor for his life. At first new, full of ink and ideas it flowed easily with expression and hope. As the years progressed so the pen took those marks and scars, the nib worn to the shape of his hand.

He lifted the pen and moved to mark the paper in his hand. It scratched and he realised the ink had run out. As the train pulled into the last stop he realised he had reached the end of his line