HUM: Of humans and other mistakes

Transient waves of foam crashed against ink-dyed rocks, splitting like a snake’s tongue.

The cool, wet spray slowly seeped into the black sand, where just moments ago, a woman had risen—slowly, lazily—awakened from an eternal sleep. Her delicate eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings, gradually lifting to reveal an unpolluted, dark blue sky. A full moon hung overhead, casting soft, tickling light over her form.

She glanced down at her bare skin, unfazed by it. All that mattered was the prickling black sand clinging to her body. She waded through it clumsily, her feet sinking into the soft ground, leaving faint prints behind her. Relief washed over her as she splashed lukewarm water onto her skin, rinsing away the gritty residue.

A gasp caught in her throat.

Through the messy strands of her mud-caked hair, she spotted something—a building of grey, smooth stone—concrete. It towered over her, and the lights from its windows stung her eyes. But the awe she felt held her in place.

A silhouette appeared—smaller than her, yet in some way, so much larger. It felt as though it had always been there, like the sky itself.

Her chest ached, her heart pulsing with something unfamiliar. She wanted to shake her head, to scream, but her body refused to move. The figure raised its midnight-black hand, and she stood frozen, staring into the abyss. Seconds stretched, becoming endless.

Was she about to be pulled back into the earth that birthed her? She knew instinctively that this being—whatever it was—had the power to give and take, without limit or consequence. Its presence pressed down on her, leaving no room for doubt.

Her heart skipped a beat. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to dissolve into the sand beneath her feet.

The hand touched her cheek.

In that instant, she learned her name—Madam.

Tears welled up, spilling down her face like rivers. She raised her own hand, still heavy with the weight of her new existence, and placed it on the figure’s hand. Her eyes widened, and a sharp cry tore from her throat as the tears thickened, flooding her mouth with salt.

A deep loneliness bloomed inside her, growing stronger by the second, demanding that she act. Madam understood now—she would have to create life, bring bodies into this place, just as her own body had been brought into this garden. It was her task now, and with silent pride, she accepted it. She had no choice.

The figure lowered its hand.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it vanished—dust scattering toward the concrete building before dissolving into the midnight sky.

The fifteen year old girl dug her fingers into her pillow. Her face contorted into a grimace as she whimpered. Flailing her legs, she tried to escape, tossing the blanket to the ground in the process.

“Honey.”

“Uh?”

“You were dreaming. Wake up, poor baby.”

“...”

The shadows of the fading dream hushed over Dora’s delicate eyelids. As the searing light of the morning sun flooded her vision, it washed away the lingering terror, leaving only a faint, unsettling memory as a new day began.

“You're late for school, baby.”

A finger poked her soft eyelids repeatedly.

“Umm… wah!”