Giant’s Eyelid

We are a dream under the eyelid of a sleeping giant. Look to the horizon as dusk falls and you will see the light from between the ‘lids, peering through. In that distance, between eyelid and eye, is where we exist—the wet cavity of space and time. Spores float here for a moment to breathe life and blow dreams into the mind of the giant.

Men blow fires. Man-on-man, wars are fought under an eyelid. We kill ourselves. We defy the giant and strike out the tendons of its eye, wielding them as clubs and blades and guns and artillery. With each pull of a tendon, our backs swell and bleed. The giant rumbles. Its cells crumble. The eyelids, opening.

One, thinking he is Prometheus, bends the light into a slashing whip, guiding it through the bodies of men around him. Women and children scream. Their eyes fill with the light from without and boil and burn into clumps of unmoving spores. He, light-wielder, is the only man left. Spores float no more, even the giant is dead. The man screams in silence until he begins to crumble. Light wreaks through him.

Wake up.