A Story Based On My Dream From Yesterday

 

"The Fall of Flags"

I had the strangest dream last night.

It began with the sound of wind rushing past my ears, a howling that seemed to swallow all other noises. I was falling—no, tumbling—through the sky, my body weightless, as though the world itself was tipping sideways. Below me, the vast expanse of blue stretched infinitely. The sky, a soft, faded cerulean, blurred with every spin, until my vision was lost in a dizzying swirl of motion.

Clutched in my arms was a box—nothing special at first glance, but its contents… that's what mattered. A box full of flags. I didn't know how or why I had it, but I knew it was important. The flags were vibrant, their colors sharp against the endless backdrop of sky. Red. Gold. Blue. Green. They fluttered with the wind as if they were alive, straining to escape the box, begging for freedom.

I reached for the lid, a slow-motion hesitation in my mind, but something stopped me. The box burst open of its own accord, scattering the flags into the wind. They flew out in every direction, swirling in the air like a rainbow caught in a storm. I could hear their soft, fabric whispers as they sailed away from me, fluttering, fluttering, until they were just dots on the horizon, lost to the wind.

The world spun faster. My stomach churned. The flags—beautiful, now-so-distant—were falling. And I, still falling, was bound to follow them. My fingers grasped for the box, but it was gone now, disappeared in the flurry of color. Instead, I reached out toward the ocean below.

I could see the water now, vast and endless, a mirror of the sky, the same color as the flags. But it wasn’t calm. No, the ocean was alive, churning with energy. Waves rose like mountains, crashing down with a thunderous roar, and I realized that the very sea was pulling me in, dragging me down with every inch I descended. The flags, scattered far below, had already begun to vanish into the foam.

The impact was inevitable. There was no slowing down, no way to change the course. I hit the water with a shock that jolted my bones, the coldness of the sea shocking me awake, but only for a moment. The water swallowed me whole, pulling me deeper and deeper.

And then it became… still.

There was no panic. No fear. Just a weightless sensation, as if the ocean had accepted me into its vast embrace. Around me, the flags drifted by, their colors muted in the deep water. Some were tangled in the waves, while others floated downward, sinking like memories to the ocean floor. I tried to reach for them, but my limbs moved with a sluggishness that made no sense—like I was no longer entirely a part of this world.

As the water closed over me, I could hear faint whispers. Soft, like a lullaby, but distorted, as though coming from far, far away. The flags, now completely scattered, were fading into the distance, the last trace of color melting into the deep.

I let myself sink.

And in the quiet, I felt something else—a connection to the ocean. To the flags. To the fall itself. A feeling, as strange as it was peaceful, washed over me. That I had never truly been falling at all. Perhaps I had been floating all along.

The dream ended with a final, slow exhale of breath. My body was suspended in the water, suspended in time, as if I had become a part of the sea itself.

And just before I woke, I could have sworn I saw one last flag—dipping low into the ocean’s depths, carrying with it a secret that only the waves would ever understand.