eating dirt

I had a dream that the world was ending. Messenger boys called Ticket Senders went door to door and delivered government issued cards containing apologies and instructions on how to build a fallout shelter.  The sky was bone white all day, and when night fell, I convinced my whole family to take a walk with me under the light of a lunar eclipse.  I stood in the middle of an empty street and watched the shadows eat  the moon little by little until it was gone. It was gone and my mother was tugging on my sleeve. She was scared we would die in the darkness, and I was scared to tell her that I wasn't scared of dying.

I woke up craving a grave, wanting soil for a blanket. Eyes wide open staring straight at the sky, be it bone white or lit by a vanishing moon or filled with fluffy clouds. I wanted to die this morning, and in my dream, my days were numbered. I could've died under collapsed walls, or buried in an underground shelter that caved in upon impact. I could've died choking on dirt and roots and worms. I could've died like that.

I swear it wasn't a nightmare. I swear.