Art by jiashu xu ©
Sheridan pulled his leather jacket tight, his wind-chilled fingers fumbling with the top button. He turned a closed mind to the sensory overload, retiring to his preferred haunt of solitude. Withdrawing deeper still to a familiar retreat of unlit grief, he entered a solitary dungeon where unanswered questions sustained an inescapable longing. And there, in that secluded darkness, it appeared. It was tiny, infinitesimal really, no more than a spark, like the intermittent flicker of a firefly. But in a black cesspool of misery it shown like a lighthouse on a distant shore. It had been the last presence to forsake him and one he had swore he would never welcome again. He had once longed to be visited by the captivating light but in his darkest hour he had grown to distrust its counsel and resent its company. Yet there it was once again – the glimmering light of hope.
Sheridan knew why it had suddenly chosen to make its appearance; it was always the ready companion of a dream. But for Sheridan this expedition bore none of the illusions of a dream. It was a hail-mary pass, a last ditch effort, Sheridan’s last stand. For dreams required faith and carried a price he could no longer could afford. Sheridan began to think on these things when, from the depths of his emptiness, a melody arose to accompany his poignant reflection:I feel the heat I see the sun’s rising Could this be a dream Is this a new beginning No more night, no more pain No more tears, no more crying The oasis awaits, a mirage never arriving How long, must we wait How long, this wandering How much, must be paid To the shadow of the dream [soundcloud id=’5993412′]