The sand crunched beneath her feet. Or under her skin. Or perhaps it was in her head. She couldn’t tell anymore.
She inhaled. The air tasted of salt and rust. Something strange lingered in the atmosphere, a tension, as if the entire world was holding its breath.
Around her, her friends were laughing. Or so it seemed. Their mouths opened and closed, their throats vibrating, yet no sound emerged. Still, she could hear their laughter, loud, too loud, as if echoing from some distant place—or inside her own mind.
Then, it stopped.
A silence so sudden it felt almost tangible.
She looked up.
There it was, the wave.
But not really a wave. More like a solid wall of water, dark and immense, waiting. She wanted to move. Her mind sent the signal, but her body responded a beat too late. Her arms seemed to slip away from her, as if they were already someone else’s.
And then everything shifted.
Water engulfed her in a single abrupt motion.
No thunderous crash, no sense of falling. Just a complete inversion of reality.
She was underwater.
She wasn’t drowning.
Yet something felt wrong. Her friends were no longer there—at least, not in human form. In their place, sleek shapes darted through the currents.
Dolphins.
No. Her friends.
Their eyes were still there, human eyes, too perceptive, too aware. They hovered before her, motionless, as if waiting.
She tried to speak, but her voice dissolved into a gurgle of brine.
“Where are you?!” she might have shouted, if she still had a mouth capable of shouting.
The largest dolphin approached, jaws parting, yet the voice seemed to come from nowhere:
“We are here. And you—where are you?”
She stared back, her body quivering. Her hands trembled, turned translucent, then smoothed over. She blinked, horrified by her own transformation.
“We must take her,” said another dolphin.
“Where? ... why?”
Silence. Only the muffled rhythm of waves.
“She’s supposed to be with us,” the largest dolphin responded.
She wanted to fight, to cling to her memories like a raft. But they were slipping away. Her parents, her friends… her sister?
Did she have a sister? A vague image floated before her—a smiling face, brown or maybe blonde hair, she wasn’t sure. Yes, she was certain she once had a sister. Before… No. That sister had never existed. Or had she?
A sudden vertigo tore through her mind. Everything was vanishing. Her memory was a puzzle whose pieces dissolved one by one. She tried to hold on to that final image, but it slid through her fingers—fingers she no longer truly possessed.
Her dolphin-friends drew closer. Already, she felt her body change, her legs merging into an unfamiliar shape, her skin smoothing into a cold, slick texture. Her head spun. Time slipped away.
“No,” she whispered, though no sound passed her lips, which were no longer lips at all.
“We have no choice,” said the largest dolphin.
They nudged her gently, without touching, as if mere existence pulled her into their wake. She had no strength left, no memories or arguments to cling to.
The horizon opened wide. The ocean closed behind them, a colossal jaw snapping shut. Air, sky, shore—everything faded, rendered useless in a dream that was no longer hers.
A whisper. A deep voice resonating from the currents themselves:
“Welcome home.”
Then nothing.
Nothing at all.
Véro Infini
Kafka's Advice: "I must act quickly! Because dreams fade away as fast as they form in my unconscious. In an instant."
Your challenge for the day: Choose a recent dream that left a strong impression on you. Without trying to make it logical, describe:
The persistent images
The sensations you felt
The overall atmosphere
Transform these elements into a scene where dream and reality merge.
Why dreams? Kafka teaches us that dreams are essential raw material for writing. We must seize them before they evaporate, without trying to make them logical.
#Dreamscape #Kafkaesque #Metamorphosis #Surrealism #Absurdity #Inevitability #Submersion #Eerie #Transformation #Nightmare
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