The Blue Beach

She woke up feeling the soft sand under her back.
Slowly she sat up. She knew this place: the Blue Beach.

She knew also she was dreaming. The strip of light blue sand only existed in her dreams, trapped between a very dark sea and a starry sky, lit up by the big moon.
Footsteps.
There was someone else in her beach. In her dream.
She got up and followed the marks on the sand, lulled by the sound of the waves rolling into the shore.

It was a man, wearing a white jilbab and a turban. She knew him immediately: he was one of the characters in a painting she used to admire as a child, when she went with her aunt to the coffee shop. She smiled. How intriguing, what the mind came up with.

He was sat by the water, a stick in his hand, pointing out to the stars - just like he had been in the painting. And she sat by him.

"Do you want to know why you always feel like you're falling, when you're going to sleep?" - he asked, in a soft voice, without turning his head.
"I do. But no one could ever explain it to me."

She could only see the side of his face, but she could tell he was smiling.
"I will".

The String of Silver

Some believe that when we fall asleep, our spirit wanders.

We perceive it as dreams. Some people remember them. Some don't.
Some dreams make sense. Some are just garbled content.
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In her case, she always fell. Always.
Every night, just as soon as she crossed into the land of sleep, there came the sudden tug, the feeling of falling. Sometimes, she was falling down a hill. Others, it was as simple as stepping off the pavement - and not finding the ground.

She sat up in bed, feeling thick beads of sweat rolling down her back, down her forehead, slowly - unlike her breathing, which was shallow, and fast.
She reached to the glass of water on her bedside table, her hand shaking as she did it.
She should have been used to it, by now. But she wasn't.
Slowly, she slid under the sheets again, knowing that now sleep would come peacefully.
Wondering what she would find on the other side.

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