A Hot Summer Afternoon

A hot summer afternoon with shallow sleep. Staying awake becomes a chore, so does staying in bed. Breeze hits my face; it brings nothing but more heat. My ears start to ring. Crickets outside buzz. A random machine whirrs in the background. My arms are weak, so are my legs. I hate the heat, I hate the breeze from my cluttered window. I am in desperate need of water, but I cannot wake up. I want to with all my heart. I cannot wake up. My sleep feels as though I never slept at all. I continue to stay in bed, drowning in my own misery. My earphones are tangled, as if trying to choke me. Stray dogs barking at passersby outside. A kid starts crying. A roadside cow steals vegetables from a vendor; it is beaten with a stick.

I do not remember falling asleep. My pillow is on the floor.

What does this all mean? I could not tell you. I do not know myself. Why was I witnessing this? For what purpose?

I lie there, watching.

 I saw a water tanker. I was climbing down the stairs. It felt divine, like I was witnessing the source of all things in the universe, like I was watching creation itself. I cannot tell you why, for that would be sacrilege. 

How would you describe something outside human perception? How would you describe a cube to a square?

 It was a hot summer afternoon, I conveniently woke up to my earphones choking me. The water tanker was still there.