I dream of Little Sally a lot. Most of the time she’s running free on the green fields that connect me to my youth. I catch a glimpse of blond hair flowing, and it ties my aging self to my younger one. And I don’t know if anyone can understand all this, because I don’t really, either. When I was a kid, I got lost a lot. I got lost in time and unstuck in place, like a Kurt Vonnegut character, trapped between living and dreaming, existing and not being. I wasn’t sure if I was real. Sometimes I thought I was dead, only imagining that I was alive. I mean, really, how can we ever be sure? How can we ever truly know that this land, this house, these hands, this body are real? Are we here? Do we exist? Or are we dreaming? Little Sally thought crazy shit like this all the time, and there was no one she could ask about it. And it hurt, it hurt so bad, in this awful, dread-filled way that left a rotting, roaring ache that I’ve never quite been able to get rid of. Because if I were dead, then perhaps I had never been alive. Perhaps living was just a vast mirage, a nightmare, really. To read more, please go to tinyurl/irunnovel
Posted on: Fri, 25 Oct 2013 01:16:31 +0000
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