The Dream

My mother once read a story about little boys who grew into monsters, beasts who fed on oil and sand. They looked human but you would change your mind if you saw their eyes, deep star-spangled pools of drowning innocence. I once dreamt I was this monster, fangs dripping sludge; a poison worth more than life, worth more than any man should want. I dreamt I dug in the sand, ripping corpse and bone, each swing hit flesh and increased my thirst for more, until the hole I dug was full of bodies, each one a face of our own.