Quicksand

I dreamt of sand last night. First I was standing on the top of a dune, sand everywhere around me and sand I breathed and sand I ate, someone passed a glass over to me, it was filled with fine, nearly white sand, I drank it hastily and accepted firmly the sand offered to me on a plate and searched long for fork and knife in my bag. The sand soon began to rise, to twist and to twirl, around I lost sight of my glass and my plate, the sand became more and more grained, harder and of a darker color, it cut my fingers as sharp paper does sometimes and I looked for a handkerchief to stop the bleeding,but there was no handkerchief in my pocket just more and more sand followed, not being directed by a clear source but growing and growing, transforming the world into a land of sand, a sea of yellow-brown colors, of heat and dust, rinsing like water but more heavily, massively, overwhelming everything, till the world lost its shapes and soon I released that I would be buried soon enough under this sand rushing towards me neither fast nor slow but with intense certainty, assuring me that there exits no ground beneath quicksand.

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