It's Just As Beautiful As You Said It Would Be  

Last night I dreamt that it was raining; the ground was a great, grey sheet of water as though, slowly, the oceans were swelling to claim this mass of land. The buildings were devoid of human occupancy and the tides burst through the towering walls of glass and cement. Entire freeways of automobiles became buoyant, if only temporarily, before sinking down into the murky depths, tumbling slowly like leaves do in autumn; hood ornaments winking the last vestiges of light. We watched whole billboards from the height of capitalism become empty surfboards pushing life insurance and toothpaste, personal injury lawyers and lottery jackpots. It was getting deep. If there had been a land here once, if there had been a city that once expanded to dominate the countryside all that had disappeared. A freight train was passing along somewhere far below us. You could see its solitary headlight inch along, pushing through the increasing pressure of this new Atlantis. I was imagining a dead engineer at the helm, his body made light by water, slumped over the controls, driving his vessel along post mortem; a freight that was determined to be delivered even though there was nobody who could possibly need any of it, ever. We were floating, our limbs swaying back and forth remarkably calmly, letting us witness the highest point of the radio towers, the strobing beacons, sink beneath the surface just inches and continue to flash its reminders of the old world to us in timed intervals. You looked at me and noted, "I think that we are the only survivors left. Listen to how quiet everything has become. Even the rain has silenced somewhat. I think that we are the only survivors left." I replied, "If so, where do we go from here? The highest ground for miles around has all but disappeared and we can't keep swimming forever." "Kiss me," you said, "we'll make these last moments of creation worth prolonging before returning to our families somewhere down there." Our arms made one circle and we kissed long and slow like an old black and white movie couple. It was at the time that the sun emerged from behind the dark veil of cloud overhead and made visable the panorama of the horizon, a steel blue grey body, monotone, save the light refracted off the gentle waves. This was a world now in waiting for the completion of the water cycle, a long, long wait we would never live to see the end of. You said, "Goodnight. It's just as beautiful as you said it would be." I held your hand for a second and then let go, watching you actively turn from me to swim down to where you thought your house now was, though you probably wouldn't find it. I brought my feet up so that I was now floating on my back, felt the mass of cold liquid keeping me up, closed my eyes and went to sleep.

© 2006 Michael Appleby