'Ashamed'

[Listening to: 'Svo Hljótt' by Sigur Rós]

As it was pitch black in the tunnel, I kept moving carefully in hopes of making my way towards the exit: awkwardly stumbling here and there; tracing my way across a moist and mossy wall, with hands I could barely even see.

And before I could think of making further progress, I was approaching the exit (/entrance). The tunnel was widening itself towards the end (/beginning). It was noonday-bright outside. There was a stall right outside the tunnel, and it was there that I had a breakfast of unleavened bread, sharing the table with a filthy-looking stranger. He smiled at me and said, "Thanks!" - leaving me in a situation where the proprietor of the establishment wouldn't take a "I've just been stiffed!" as an answer, and so, reluctantly it was: I paid for the stranger's meal as well.

Just as I was about to leave the table, another person came up to me, and put his hands on my shoulders, shaking me while exclaiming, "Do you remember me? Of course you do! How could you ever forget?" It would seem that we had went to primary school together and were very close then. I could not for the life of me however, recall the existence of such a person then, but I didn't correct him. While walking side by side, I noticed that his teeth were falling apart: black with an almost grime-like substance.

"Who would have thought that you, of all people, would take up smoking?" he said, with a smile that was unlike a smile.

"But I quit around six months back," I explained.

"Ah. Nevertheless..," he tried to continue, as if trying to make a point, but he forgot what he was about to say.

"I would think that you smoke too. Don't you?" I asked, led mainly by a presumption made from observing the state of his teeth.

"I do, yes. But not really. I don't do cigarettes."

And as if in explanation to what he had meant, he took out a box of matches from his pants pocket and struck one; passing the whole box to me while nonchalantly taking the lit match, placing it between his lips. That's not smoking, I said to myself. And suddenly, I found the both of us standing in front of the church which I frequent. There was a service of sorts and it was coming close to an end. By the gates we furthered our conversation.

He gave me a strange look and said sternly, "If you don't think that's smoking, then I shall take it to be a most personal insult." To which, my reply was this: I took a match from the box which he gave me; lit it and threw it into the sky. Then, marvelously, the air above us caught fire, randomly spreading itself for a few meters before dying out: giving off an effect that a minute flare was lit. I gathered myself and looked around, but the person who claimed to be my childhood friend was gone.

I lit another match and threw it upwards; again, the air above caught fire: this time making an impression of a small and silent firework. As I turned, I saw that the people were coming out from the church and I said, "Look! Look at this! Look at what I can do!" and threw another lit match into the sky, and it was the same: the air above caught fire, swirling and twisting as a wild and crazy bright light, and then abruptly: nothing. But no one paid me any attention.

And as I looked more carefully between all the people; between all the spaces; between the structures of the building - I saw that we were actually surrounded by apparition-like plants. Ghostly plants which were floating about like jellyfish; their roots almost touching the ground; like everything else was inside the sea.

And then I knew: I wasn't special.

It was their pollen which was making the air flammable.

And because of that, I left the dream.

( _")