I dreamed last night that I went on a trip to the moon with a group of other people. Just before I disembarked from the rocket ship or whatever it was, I checked my Mac OSX horoscope widget, and it warned me that there was a disaster in the brewing and I shouldn’t go out anywhere.
Well, it seemed a nice clear day, and disasters generally affect people you don’t even know, so I gathered together my picnic stuff and strolled out onto the surface of the moon.
It looked just like Earth. There were trees and plants and hills and flowers, and a wide, deep stream called the Bosphorus Rambles.* We stood on a bridge and looked down, and then half of us went one way and half went the other. I thought the disaster would happen to the ones who went the other way, so at first I felt safe. Before coming down off the bridge, I looked over and saw a politician talking to television cameras. He was standing on a smooth golden-brown rock which sloped gradually into the green, swirling stream. He talked animatedly, waving his arms around.
I said to no one in particular, “he’s going to fall in.”
The politician tripped and rolled down the rock, but then stopped short of the edge of the water.
“Oh,” I said – “he’s not.”
The politician picked himself up then stumbled again, falling into the emerald green water with a splash. I shuddered in sympathy even as I said “oh wait – he did.”
I turned round and my companions were walking away impatiently.
I hurried after them and we found a nice sandy bank where we spread out our picnic rugs and had our lunch. Watching the river surging not far away, I felt the first faint stirrings of unease.
“But there’s no water on the moon!” I said to myself. “Something’s not right here.”
I told my companions about the prophecy that something bad was going to happen and people were going to be killed. They laughed, and said “nonsense.” They led me down to a jagged rock jutting out of the water. “Look,” they said, and pointed. The edge of the water was drawing back. “The water is receding,” they said. “We’re in no danger.”
“Ah, but…”, I said, and led them round to the other side of the rock. I pointed at some shallow furrows in the sand which were under clear water. As we watched, the furrows grew deeper.
“They’re getting deeper and deeper,” I said.
My companions snorted and stalked off. If backs could talk, theirs would have said “NOT listening.”
In the distance there was a deep booming roar…
* Bosphorus Ramblings was the original name for the Turkey-based blog Kizgikate.