Greetings, hivers. I appreciate the space 
I hope you like it.
The shore was the expanse of frozen mud that he had touched with his feet a few feet back. More than knowing, he sensed behind him, at another time and in another place, many agitated beings; voices, millions of voices, lights like great fires, flames spreading over all things, in the air, reflected in the clouds.
Falling and splashing, it made its way through the vegetation of thin, flexible stems, devoid of leaves. He fought with them as against a hostile army, like a desperate spider caught in its own web, panting and blind, with elemental violence. Finally, he reached a clearing where the sand was dry. He lay down on his back.
The night had no sounds or stars, and he was not surprised. Then he would notice transformations, spasms and contractions, vibrations and fluttering that would create life around him. The metamorphosis was to be complete. He sank one hand into the sand; it was very cold and gave off a mineral smell. It had a thick consistency. Without knowing why, he assumed it was gray.
The fatigue hurt his bones and dragged him to sleep. Before falling asleep he thought that nothing would come back: all the acts were final. He knew that when he woke up he would have forgotten the shreds of memory that still bound him to the past; they were like painful lashes, blinding flashes in that dark, abyssal night. Quietly, as he plunged into a dream without images, he said: my friends... my city... my name.
