A Dream By: Reinhard Zeng

                                                       Reverie

Ravanne was staring at a lighthouse from a distance. By noon, the sea breeze was almost everywhere. In a flash Ravanne's face was bathed in salty air. Ravage breathed, feeling the firmness of the ground gradually replace dizziness. She opened her eyes and looked into the distance. The bank was noisy and her companions pushed her back. She looked back hastily. She could see the scene, darker and tangled not that pleasant.

                                                        Reality

The seats in the theatre were a bit crowded. Clouse looked down at Ravanne's bent leg sticking out of her trousers, untouched. Clouse touched her hand and she didn't look back. Clouse wasn't sure if she was smiling. Clouse gestured quietly to a pretty girl onstage, pointing to her thin neck and shoulders, her curved eyebrows and deer-like jaw. Clouse saw her glance slightly, then turned to gaze at me, then hurriedly lowered her head.

Ravanne pulled her hand away from the Clouse’s fingers. The play wasn’t bad, though Clouse was worried about the angry man’s spray landing on their foreheads several times. They were so close to the stage that they had to witness the artificial smiles, the sad tears. It was terrifying, the actors so naked in front of our eyes, naked as real. When the play was over, the audience went on each other’s ways. Ravanne waved Clouse’s searching hand away like a fruitfly looking for a good meal. Clouse followed her through the crowd.

Clouse saw Ravanne standing at the end of the embankment, watching like a silent abuser. Clouse has to forge ahead. Her pride quivered in confusion. There was little to support her, and even in the throng she was cold.

Ravanne and Clouse stood together like two trees that grew together and hated each other, and Clouse still didn’t look sideways.

Later? What's the end of the story, Clouse asks? Ravine, lost in memory, rubbed her hand, her smiling eyes shining in the lamplight.

Ravanne said, “I did what any drowning person would do. I held you tight around your back, my jaw embedded in your suddenly stiffened shoulders. I can’t see your face, you broke my arm ring, you don’t even pretend to be indifferent. I  was angry, ashamed, almost in tears. Between killing you and loving you, I reluctantly chose the latter.”

Memories blur here, Clouse’s smile extends,

"Stop talking, stop talking, she laughs. Ravanne traced her shame with her eyes, even if it was only a tiny bit of comfort. Memory and reality overlap at this moment, and with pain, despair, struggle, and joy, Clouse embraces Ravanne in his arms.

“Like this? You ask. Like this,” I said.