Edge of the world
Standing at the edge of the world...
We always thought this must be the beginning of something. Something grand, some velvety dream or elaborate nightmare to play through each successive step and then speak to the world, stand up on the edge of the bed, and proclaim:
I had the most wonderful dream last night, I did!
I just don't remember what it was.
Ask around, then. Ask the neighbour, tending her last bloom of flowers, planting bulbs for the coming spring, cheerily, merrily whistling to herself. The wind is cold. Leaves are flying, but it is still warm; the sun is still high enough to keep everything warm under the blanket of the world, and ask the neighbour's cat and the neighbour's kid and a hapless bird that hit the window... oh, but the bird is dead. It doesn't know. If it ever knew, the knowledge is gone.
And the leaves are still falling, blowing in the wind, a soft drift of gold and brown and red, singing on the deepening gusts. Winter is coming.
Query the Madness. Copy across three screens, three machines, just to access a server, a server that hosts dreams, a server that has never been seen, will never be seen... but this is it. One little table in one little database, submit the query: ´Standing at the edge of the world´
- Showing rows 0-2 (1 total, Query took 0.0060 sec)
- Standing at the edge of the world, the stars seem brighter somehow, closer, more complete.
- Standing at the edge of the world, never really there, this is the only way to truly see what is possible. Look... and move on. But each encounter is too fleeting to ever belong, and in time, it becomes lonely on the edge. Want to settle down. Want to belong... and to forget. Enter the world.
- Standing at the edge of the world, this is the place to be. This is where the dreams begin and the realities end. The edges are rough. Nothing is as it seems.
What?
Asking around, not even the bird seems to know.