Aww, son of a bitch
Webs.
Webs all around him, binding, trapping. They tugged at his hair and his clothes and burned his skin with but a touch. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound ushered forth. The only noise in this place, wherever it was, was the constant scribbling and scratching, like so many insects crawling across his eardrums.
Michael laid there, suspended over an infinite blackness. It was only him and the web here, along with whatever monstrous thing had spun this net. He struggled, writhing in place as the trap bounced up and down beneath him. Some of the strands broke loose, falling into the abyss, but the others held fast and wrapped even tighter around him, stealing the breath from the boy's lungs.
Soon, the whispering came. It was barely audible at first, a soft noise that could barely be heard over the constant scratching that assailed his ears. Soon it grew in volume, louder and louder until it drowned out the noise itself. It seemed almost familiar somehow, like he was seeing an old friend from years past. he couldn't place the language, though. Something African? Possibly.
He didn't have much time to think before the web shook once again, seemingly of its own volition. Michale's breath grew short, his heart pounding in his ears. Something was coming. Whatever monstrous beast had held him here had returned, ready to feast upon its new prey. He gulped and screwed his eyes shut, awaiting death.
Soon, it was upon him. A spider, larger than any he had ever seen. While he was in no condition to make exact measurements, he could estimate that it was somewhere between a grizzly bear and a skyscraper. It was charcoal in coloration, with patterns of red and yellow marking its carapace, almost dancing across its surface. Eight massive eyes stared at him, though they were less eyes than a set of soulless ebony spheres, flawless and gleaming. There was something in those eyes, a spark, a flash of whimsy and creativity, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
The spider leaned forward, its jaws mere inches away from Michael's face. A few moments passed. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. And then...
It spoke. In the voice of a man, no less, a creaky voice, like an old wooden chair. When it spoke, his body trembled, as it it were coming from within him. It was only a few words, but they were poignant ones.
"Wake up, boy."
"Time's a'wastin'."
With a groan, Michael awoke, removing his forehead from his keyboard. The writer put a hand to his forehead. It felt like a squadron of tiny gnomes had set up shop in his skull and were hard at work strip-mining his brain. Not the best image, but an accurate one. The harsh glow of his screen hurt his eyes, its pale luminescence in sharp contrast to the darkness of his room. Adjusting his glasses, he glared at his monitor, trying to make sense of the lengthy string of gibberish before him.
Sighing, he closed the word document and got to his feet, the office chair sliding across the floor behind him. Another day, still no progress. The ideas were there, fully formed. He just couldn't get them down on paper, so to speak. A quick glance around his room. Books and video game cases were scattered about the floor haphazardly, almost inviting him to step on them. A few posters hung on the otherwise bare walls, mostly anime with the exception of the Tron calender that his aunt had gotten him as a poorly thought out Christmas gift. He had yet to forgive her for that.
Pulling up the blinds, Michael peered out the small window that sat beside his computer. it was a beautiful day outside. it usually was. While he much prefered colder climes, he had to concede that a bit of sunlight was good once and a while. Maybe that was what he needed. A little walk, to help clear his mind. You never knew when inspiration could strike. There was always the risk of running into someone, but it was slim at worst.
Michael didn't like people. He wasn't a misanthrope, not by a long shot. he just found them unnerving. He couldn't understand them, not like he understood himself or his stories. He never knew what they wanted from him, never knew what they thought of him. It made dealing with others difficult, to say the least. He shook his head, banishing those thoughts from his mind. No need to reflect on his insecurities right now.
Pushing open the front door, he stepped out into the sunlight, taking a deep breath as the cool breeze tousled his hair. With that, he set off down the sidewalk, his stride smooth and his movements fluid. For a moment, he thought about his parents. He was pretty sure they were at work right now, but he didn't pay them much attention anyway and the gesture was mutual. It had been some time until he'd last spoken with them, though. Maybe when they got back home.
As he walked, Michael's thoughts turned to his dream. It was an odd one, but nothing unusual by the standards of dreams. The spider had been an odd addition, though. He certainly wasn't afraid of spiders, though like most people he found them to be distasteful creatures. He didn't tarry much with that dream analysis crap, either. A dream was a dream, with no meaning or reason to it and that was the end of that.
Somewhere, a web trembled.
edited 21st Jan '12 1:58:52 PM by Bindlestick
"You have more than enough potential. So tell me what is the one wish that would make your soul gem shine." -Mitt Romney, probably
CLANG!!
Wow, it was really stiflingly hot. Hugh could not see through the smoke.
CLANG!!
Hugh could see a dull orange light, backlighting a man, who was presumably making the clanging, considering he was hammering on an anvil.
CLANG!!
Correction: Hugh was on the anvil, being heated so, so hot, heated to extreme intolerable temperatures and battered to the point he may as well just die here and now—
CLANG!!
Hugh was glowing orange, hammered flat and sharpened. The figure lifted him up, gripping Hugh by the hilt.
"YOUUU ARE READY AND REBUILT! HUGH FORRESTER, CLAIM YOUR BIRTHRIGHT AS HEPHAESTUS, THE FORLORN AND FORGOTTEN, THE DOWNTRODDEN AND DEFORMED FORGEGOD OF THE FURNACE FLAMES!! USE MY POWER WISELY! YOU ARE NOT A DRAGON, YOU ARE NOT VULCAN OF THE VOLCANOES! YOUR POWER IS RESTRAINED, AND YET MORE USEFUL IN YOUR TASK THAN ANY OF YOUR COHORTS! NOW, AWAKE AND LIVE ONE LAST DAY, AND SAVOR IT BEFORE IT ALL..."
CLANG!!!
"BURRRRRNS!!"
Hugh snapped out of bed, sweating profusely. Not from his dream, the sweating was actualy pretty normal. He climbed out of bed, showered and dressed himself. All the while he dragged around his left leg.
Well, not for much longer, at least.
They had come to Rockland for Dad's job, but Dad came for the job because Hugh needed the operation, and the healthcare with this job allowed for it.
The jury was still out on when it would happen. So Hugh climbed carefully downstairs—getting up at 6 AM in new england to get to school made things really dark—and turned on some lights. Then he packed his lunch and grabbed the note off his counter—it was from Dad, and had the words Don't Open Till Lunch written on the outside.
Hugh Forrester did as he was told, put on his bookbag, and limped out the door to the bus stop.
Wild Horse
It was a world with golden skies and white flowers. No sun sat solace overhead, rather it was a giant spinning wheel of such red color that it hurt to even look at it. No words served to describe the color, save for that it was a red that shouldn't exist. Golden clouds drifted near the eternally spinning object that acted in place of the star that humans know of. It was utterly devoid of sounds save for the barest of breezes which rustled the stalks of plant life which grew in abundance. Faint smell of green things and lilacs drifted in the air, an intoxicating perfume of spring.
A lone figure traversed the flowering meadow, his clothes like spun gold. Upon his head was a gleaming fillet, and his hair voluminous and chestnut brown. Golden eyes peered over the distance as he took upon his surroundings, pausing every now and then to sweep the landscape with his twin suns. At last he found the thing he sought: a small spot overgrown by red flowers that contrasted with the white of the field. It was somewhat squarish, the area. A small rounded stone of nondescript origin was placed in the middle of the grave, and the man in imperial robes stopped in respect.
"I am sorry to disturb your slumber... But I have need of you." Placing one hand upon the stone, the being then split it in twain. Rumblings shook the upturned dirt, which soon parted to reveal a plain but high quality coffin. Opening the lid with an audible crack, he drifted a hand down into the resting place and grabbed a pale, smaller limb."Live."
Gold light drifted out from the contact and entered the pale woman held within. Strangely, she was still in perfect condition, her lifeless body preserved like a mannequin. Color flowed through her body, providing a contrast against the crimson robes she wore. Minute movements began appearing, quivers of unused muscles, the reanimation of the heart. As blood began recirculating in the body, the mysterious man slowly began fading from the feet up. Smiling as he disappeared, the visitor eventually dispersed into fine golden dust that drifted off into parts unknown.
A few scant moments after the male figure disappeared, the female one stirred. Her whole frame quivered, and a sudden intake of air accompanied the opening of her eyes. Slowly grabbing the edges of the box, the girl raised herself up and glanced at the alien landscape. Placing her hand over her heart, she continued to feel the steady beatings of her organ. It was weak, but steadily strengthening. It was also in a reliable and constant pattern, indicating a difference from what experiences had been felt in the distant past.
As the breeze tousled her shoulder length hair and crimson robes, the person of Asian heritage eventually stood up. Wincing as blood was pumped into her legs once more and fighting the sensation of weariness and fatigue, she slowly straightened herself up into a respectable standing position, her feet shoulder length apart. Slowly, minutely, she regained mastery over her body and willed it to step outside the box. She didn't know why she was back. Why she was brought out of the darkness. But it wouldn't do to stay in such confines after resurrection. Life was short, as she learned from experience.
"I'm alive..." Hoarse whispers echoed from the dry throat. Taking in the scenery, she simply closed her eyes and savored the sweet air she was now able to take in again. "A second chance... Thank you... Her lone voice went unanswered.
edited 21st Jan '12 12:35:29 PM by GreyStar
Always be ready to do the unusual and unexpected.
(Avatar by Coffee)
The dream started, as always, with the sound of desert wind. Cold desert wind, howling. It was the first thing she noticed, before she even saw anything.
The first thing she saw was the moon. It was full, and huge, as though it was unnaturally close to the earth for some odd reason.
The girl looked around, and saw that she was standing in the middle of the desert. For miles around her, there was nothing but sandy dunes... Except for one thing: A huge sandstone building. It was positioned to her left. Its walls were high, and it had square towers at its corners; it itself was rectangular, with a large gate flanked by two statues in one of its short walls.
The sky, save for the preternaturally large moon, was empty and black, and she was there alone; there wasn't anything else alive in sight.
She felt compelled to inspect the building more closely, and she did so, walking over the dunes and finally reaching its gate. Up close, she saw that the building was huge; its towers were as tall as the tallest of trees. The statues, too, were many times a man's height, and had falcon heads instead of human ones; they had strange... Balls... on top of them.
The gate was open, and she looked inside. As far as she could see, the gate opened to a large, empty courtyard; from it, a sort of a roofless corridor stretched onwards, and terminated at the building's other end. Tentatively she walked into it and looked around.
The courtyard was indeed empty; it was square in shape, and at its sides, pillars held small, long roofs of sorts. She looked toward the building's end, and she saw a single beam of moonlight illuminating a circle on the ground in the corridor's end.
Even more hesitantly, she walked toward it. She passed the open chambers at the building's side, glimpsing dark halls and strange shapes inside them.
She finally reached the circle and stepped in.
Cold. So cold. She almost immediately began to shake, nearly freezing to death. Then a voice spoke.
“Vasilki.”
A pause.
Then, again, more forcefully this time: ”Vasiliki!”
The cold intensified; Vasiliki thought she'd die, it was so painful...
Then she woke up with a start. Her chest heaving, she looked around. She was in her bed, the coverings tousled and her pillow on the floor; her pyjama was wet with sweat. Groggily, she looked at her watch. 0324 hours? Some hour to wake up in, she thought.
She got up out of her bed and went to the kitchen. She filled a mug with some water and drank. This was the third nightmare she had this week, and it was unnervingly similar to the others; they always contained the same empty desert and the same large building, and always ended with her nearly freezing to death...
Sighing, she put the mug in the sink and went back to bed. She picked her pillow up from the floor, dusted it a bit, and put it back in its place.
Wiping her brow, she settled back into her bed, turned to lie on her side, and soon enough drifted off to sleep.
edited 21st Jan '12 12:50:47 PM by desdendelle
The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
A true gentleduck
A thousand tears were shed, but one to few to quench the flames of closing.
“You again?” The doctor asked with a displeased look. “How many times has it been now? Four, no, it’s the fifth time you’ve come here since-“ - “Don’t you dare speak another word!” Arden threatened the doctor, raising his bloodied fist at him. “Now do your damn job and bandage it, or whatever, so I can get the hell out here. Fuck, this place reeks of old people.”
Shards of glass lay spread across the floor, reflecting a miserable face.
Arden Winterdew had been plagued by the same dream for the last several months. In the dream, he was loved by everyone and everything, and all praised him like the life-giving sun itself. He could not stand it; the very thought made him cringe and feel as if his bones were retreating deep into his own body. – With a nauseated feeling in his stomach he lowered his gaze to his bandaged hand.
Jubilant faces were all around him. A feast in his honour!
At the moment, all he wanted was to be left alone. He was by himself at the tracks, sitting in the stands. “It’s my fault!” He voicelessly whispered through gritted teeth.
The cold grasp of death embraces all.
These days, no one would ever come there to the tracks; especially not that early in the day. Before, Arden might have come there to run, but he had not had the will to do anything of the sort for the last three months. He had not even been to work, and his entire life was at a complete stand-still.
Until the twilight of the gods.
edited 21st Jan '12 3:46:25 PM by AustralAnima
Vir Sapit Qui Pauca Loquitur
Blood.
The metallic scent of blood was everywhere.
The battlefield was covered in blood, seeping from the wounds of the dead. Ravens were swarming in the distance, ready to feast on the dead flesh.
Arrows were everywhere. Jutting out of armour, pinning limbs to the ground or nestled in the eye sockets of the dead. They were like stalks of rice sticking out of the water, the faint wind rustling the steering feathers.
The stench of death was everywhere.
It had been slaughter. Two great armies had met here, to dye the ground red. One side had armour and clothes in a blue colour, the other had worn black. They had been on opposite sides in life. But now in death, they laid next to each other, like they were brothers. Swords did not discriminate, and cut as sharply into whatever flesh they could bite.
But not all of the corpses on the field were those of warriors. For every armoured soldier, there were ten that had worn only simple clothes and wielded unmarked lances and swords. For every sashimono that now fluttered wistfully in the wind, fifteen dead showed the signs of having been badly equipped craftsmen and farmers.
By how the dead had fallen, the tides of the battle could be read. At first, the black army had charged into battle with a ferocious fervour. But the blue lines had held, and ridden off the storm. The blue army had fought back in compact battle units, attacking key points in the black assault.
Finally, the black general had fallen. His corpse had been run through with a lance, and it lay slumped over the side of its steed. The horse had followed its master into death.
All had seemed lost, and the black army was broken. Those who had survived, had tried to flee, or surrender. But the blue army had showed no mercy, and so rows upon rows of fighters showed frightened expressions and arrows in the back.
But the blue army had not won.
Because one soldier in black had stood fast. And as men died all around on the battlefield, this single soldier who was still left with a sense of duty and honour, had stood fast. The soldier had not faltered.
The soldier in black knelt on the battlefield. Blood leaked from its many wounds, and tears streamed from its face. Bodies were piled up around it, showing how the entire remnant of the blue army had thrown itself at the surviving soldier so that it could join its allies in death. All had perished.
The soldier was the only survivor. Yet it was not alone on this eve of slaughter. A monk stood before the soldier, gazing at the warrior in black armour.
Rise, sole survivor of the Minamoto Clan.
The soldier managed to get back on its feet. It felt sick. The smell of death, the sight of blood and the endless hills of corpses.
This is your work, warrior.
The soldier did not reply to the monk. The insides of its mouth tasted like ashes, and its guts were twisted with bile and disgust.
You fought well...Yumiko Minamoto.
Yumiko's eyes opened with a jolt, and she was wide awake. The sun had not yet risen, and so her room was not yet light. Feeling the need for light, Yumiko reached over to light the lamp by her bedside, and the warm glow illuminated her room. The tall white wardrobe, the professional-looking desk where her newly acquired laptop lay, and the large dressing table caught her eye...familiar things.
The young girl calmed down. That dream...it had been so vivid. Whatever had she been doing the night before to inspire such horrid images in her sleep? She shivered despite the warmth under the sheets. The feeling of death had been so real, and it still preyed on her mind. To think that she had killed so many, even in a dream, frightened her. She had never hurt anyone, not as much as raised her hand towards someone that had angered her. To actually take a life...such an alien thought.
She forced herself to get out of bed, her soft feet slipping out from under the sheets to step into the slippers on the carpeted floor. By the clock on her bedside table, it was still five in the morning. Not even Yumiko's father would be awake at this time. But the girl could not go back to sleep; the images were still too vivid.
Yumiko dressed in her training gear; her navy blue hakama and a white keiko-gi with short sleeves, tied with a black sash. Her long and silky black hair was gathered in a neat ponytail with a red ribbon. She grabbed the mitsugaki, the three-fingered glove that she used in her training, then sneaked out of her room, her tabi muffling the sound of her footsteps. Perhaps a prolonged training-session would calm her mind this early morning.
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Oh great, this dream again.
She was completely submerged under water and sinking. She couldn't do anything to save herself, she was only able to watch as she got farther and farther away from the full moon above her. Soon enough all she could see was blue as she just kept on sinking. There was an intense pain in her chest. She wanted to look, but she was paralyzed. All she could do was watch as things got darker and darker around her.
Suddenly an inky black cloud burst up from bellow her, swallowing the girl up and cutting off her vision from everything. She wasn't even sure she was in water anymore, but she did know that she couldn't breath. Her lung screamed for the oxygen that would not come. It was becoming painful to keep her eyes open, not that she could see anything.
Then came the noises from all around. It was hard to make out too many specifics, but they all sounded mocking. Hissing, growling, chittering, all making fun of the state she was in. The darkness that surrounded her started to seep into her, filling her lungs with fire. The mocking noises grew louder as more and more of the blackness forced its way into her mouth and nose.
This is not over
Alice shot up in her bed, drenched in sweat and breathing somewhat heavily. She shook her head as the effects of the nightmare started to wear off. It was getting fucking annoying. The blond girl threw off her covers and got out of bed, heading for the shower. She was late to rise, so no one else seemed to be home.
After getting cleaned up and dressed, Alice made sure her pocket knife was where it belonged before heading out. She didn't really have any goals for today, so she was going to look for something she could do. Possibly earn some money doing a small job for someone.
Little did she know that there was more intended for her today.
-♌-
Dreams are always significantly different from waking life, though for the world born of slumber to be of a quality significantly more vibrant than the quality of one's actual eyesight could produce would be telling to anybody with the slightest amount of empathy for the nuances of others. This being the case, when one has produced a dream that they actually place preference in above all other things, it is obvious that this person has at best a strenuous relationship with reality in general.
Now Andrea Antonio was real enough, at least to the extent that it was possible to be sure of one's own certainty in the generally existentially troubled times following puberty. A certain pyramid has established that it is generally the case that human beings meet their needs in a certain order based on necessity, and it was telling that Andrea himself had failed to fully progress past the tier of the pyramid stating that we are conditioned to seek a sense of belonging. Only here, in a world of twilight become brighter than day, could he find it possible to scale the pyramid any further. Literally in this case, as he was at the moment climbing the side of a pyramid.
There were three of them; himself and two exotically beautiful women wearing incredibly elaborate dresses that would not look out of place in Victorian England. He himself was dressed in a fine suit originating from an obscure Italian name, tie loosened under duress from the intense heat of what he could only assume was the Egyptian desert. He looked quite sharp, of course, as he was wont to when with full control of his own desires. Such a state was virtually impossible in any other circumstance besides his current. He had made a joke he could not recall, the two ladies beside him tittered in amusement, all was unsubtle merriment.
"Oh do go on, Lord Antonio."
"Yes, I could say that I..." Andrea struggled to remember the jest he had made, then shrugged. It was fortunate that the amusement continued pleasantly for a few minutes as the ascension of the pyramid continued, in spite of a lull within the flow of the conversation which he was prone to allowing occur in other circumstances. In those cases, the conversation tended to die a floundering death. They were discussing one another's ancestry, figment of imagination or otherwise, when they finally reached the apex of the pyramid. It was upon reaching this focal point when Andrea finally recognized that the girls he was speaking to had no faces:
"My father never explained why he..." He struggled again, this time with the sudden onset of realization that this was indeed not the world that he was but a slight member of. Hushed he turned away from the ladies, who promptly vanished upon the loss of his attention. Balanced upon the peak of the pyramid, Andrea found himself alone, a not too uncommon state for him anyways. This time however, he had the oddest feeling. It was customary for him to regretfully awaken upon realizing the true nature of his dreams. But he remained firmly entrenched within his beautiful imagination.
"Do you require aid?"
Andrea shook his head, positive he had heard something, but unable to discern what. He looked around himself, and was suddenly taken by the sight of a small black cat, slinky and suspicious in it's movements. It was at present pattering around his shoes. He gave it more attention than he normally would have a cat, given it's rather disconcerting appearance from nowhere. It regarded him with unreadable eyes, then cocked it's head and mewled:
"You've yet to come this far, though it is a good sign that you dream of it."
Whatever such words meant Andrea had no chance to think on, as the dullness of reality replaced his dreams at that moment exactly. He awoke, uncomfortable in numerous ways as he struggled out of bed, without any time to cure any of those displeasures; he would be due at school at a time previous to the current. In a shock, he realized his parents had not even bothered to awaken him in time to be late. They had left him. The subsequent duress drove entirely from his mind whatever wisdom his dream could have imparted on him.
There was a note on the kitchen table, written in small script, that explained that it was a school holiday and he didn't need to panic. Why Andrea didn't know that was beyond him, but the chance to calm down was more than welcome. He prepared himself breakfast, which was the usual he had strayed little from within the past three months, and made his way to the object which occupied most of his time; his desktop. He switched it on and proceeded to lose himself in yet another place besides reality.
♌
Lesbarian
The air was filled with the scent of smoke and burning aromatics, a pleasant haze that invited all to come closer. The air was filled with the sounds of whistles and drums, accompanied by the never-ending chants of the druids. Cat couldn't understand the words they spoke; though she was Irish in blood, she had never been to the island and had certainly not learned a word of its ancient language. The mass of humanity was gathered around a fire, encircled by stones and occasionally fed with chunks of wood. The chant began to increase in both speed and volume, as did the rhythmic motions of those performing it. When the noise could rise no higher, and every chanter's voice was beginning to falter in rebellion against the ordeal, a woman's silhouette appeared inside the fire, and began working its way towards the edge. The chant ended abruptly, shifting without hesitation into cries of cheer. A pale, slender hand broke through the flames, and then another, grasping the edges of the fire and pulling the rest of the body out. Moments later, there was a woman of ageless beauty standing naked amidst the crowd, unmarred by the fire.
The scene shifted. A nearly featureless expanse, without a living thing in sight, save one: the woman who had stepped from the flames. At this point, she was covered in a cloak made from the hide of some local animal, likely a wolf, or possibly two. After a moment, Cat realised she was there too, and she looked down to see a similar outfit draped over her shoulders. Saying nothing, the other woman embraced Cat and kissed her forehead. A whisper, more thought than language, ran through her mind. You have to be strong. Events are unfolding beyond your control, and soon you will have
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Cat fumbled for the clock, eventually managing to knock it off the night-stand it sat upon. She intended a gentler approach to turning the accursed thing off, but if it gets results. . .
A quick shower, fifteen minutes of makeup application, and one maroon skirt later, she was ready for the day. She hugged her aunt Lauren farewell, and departed for the local college.
edited 21st Jan '12 4:55:35 PM by Exelixi
Mura: -flips the bird to veterinary science with one hand and Euclidean geometry with the other-
Jack walked through the plains he was in. The land felt dead, he wasn't sure how he knew this, but all around him he felt this feeling as he travelled to some unknown destination.
Up above, the moon was covered by the clouds, leaving only little light to shine through. The temperature was deathly cold, as if heat didn't exist. The grass around him stood still, no motion at all.
Eventually, he saw a bright light from afar. Being the only difference in this monotonus world, he went to this new oddity. As he grew closer, he could feel vitality, as if it was the only thing that was alive in this place.
When he reached the source, he saw a strange statue before him. It was hard to make out its shape, but it had a prominant horn. But a particular interest was its surroundings. It was contrast from everything else. The grass around felt more vibrant, the air more warm. The statue, it seemed to Jack, was constricted, leading to the decay surrounding him.
He walked towards the statue. He thought he saw it move as he drew closer. He could see cracks form, slowly at first, but speeding up to a faster pace. As he reached to touch it, the statue shattered, knocking him down. The tiny light before had grown vast, overtaking the decline and revitalizing it.
Taking a look back at where the statue was, he saw in its place a large beast, stomping with great strength as if its new freedom shouted some kind of defiance. After its apparent enjoyment, it looked at Jack and-
Jack woke up. He took off the notebook on his face, and tiredly looked around. Right, he was in his room, doing his work. He rolled off his bed, groining as he hit the ground. He stayed there for a couple minutes, wordlessly considering just staying there and sleep. Taking the more active choice, he sluggishly stood up, and did a couple stretches.
His room was neat, aside from the schoolwork around him and his bed. He had a computer and a TV here as well, but he never found anything interesting to watch or play, and he never chatted in forums or anything social like that.
He went out of his room, and went into the bathroom to wash his face. Thinking about the foul feeling in his mouth, he brushed his teeth again and exited. There was no one else here he thought. His parents were too busy working and had little time for him. It didn't bother him that much anymore, but he occasionally thought of this whenever he saw how empty this place was.
He kept having this dream, or rather, this advancing dream. The first time he recalled simply laying on the cold, dead plains. Now not only had he walked in his later dreams, he found this...being in that desolate land. He would pass it off as some mix of whatever he had read or seen, but he hasn't felt like watching anything lately; Just doing work, or jogging around the neighborhood. Speaking of jogging...
Jack went to the front door. He took a nap in his casual clothing, so the only thing he needed was his shoes near it. Maybe some time running around will help with this he thought, as he locked the door behind him.
edited 21st Jan '12 5:23:13 PM by Runekn
As it always began, Eric was walking side-by-side with a young boy. Around them the scene would shift, a constant movement as one scene flowed into another, like an ocean of images and sounds. Yet the boy remained constant. Occasionally, Eric would watch the child reach down and pick something up, a bone off a beach or a sticks, and tinker with them before showing Eric the results.
And still they walked on, sand to grass and grass to stone, and as they walked his hatred grew. This small boy, so young, was managing to surpass him, him of all people. And as the jealousy and rage grew to a point, an edge appeared, and he pushed.
The boy fell, his expression one that would haunt Eric in more than just his dreams, and as he realized what he had done, he fled.
Tears fell from his eyes, blinding him and hiding his destination, but he did not care. He had let his anger get the best of him, and the boy had suffered. The scene shifted to dark, stone walls, each twist and turn looking exactly the same. And all around him screams of fear and pain would echo, and he knew inside that he had built this, and they suffered because of him.
A tower, rising high above the ground, with a sprawling structure far below.This was his punishment for his transgressions. Yet he did not suffer alone. A young man, who looked around the same age as him, was trapped with him. And Eric fell great sorrow, for this man had to suffer for something he did not do.
Eric took his hand, and together they leaped from the tower. But they did not fall, for their arms had become wings, beautiful wings that glistened and shined in the sun. And side-by-side they flew, for they were finally free.
Yet tragedy struck, as it did every night. The man had flown too high, the feelings of freedom had clouded his mind. Eric called out to the man to stop, to fly lower, yet the words would never reach him. And his wings would burn.
The man fell, the same expression as the young boy, and was swallowed by the ocean below. And his heart was ripped apart by sorrow, Eric too fell. And the darkness swallowed him.
“My son...I am sorry.”
Eric woke with a start, the sudden movement causing him to roll of the couch he had been sleeping on. As the cobwebs slowly left his mind, the dream came back to him. The same dream that had plagued him for a large part of his life. As he touched his face, he felt it was wet, he had been crying again. Something about the dream brought such sorrow to Eric, that he would always wake up crying. Eric took in his surroundings. It was a simple, three room apartment with a kitchen, a tiny bathroom and a living room. It was all he could afford with his meagre pay. ‘Yep, still here.’ Eric thought darkly, ‘You made a great choice, going off on your own Eric.’
Sighing, he rose too his feet, throwing the blanket back onto the couch. Grabbing his phone off the coffee table next to him, he checked the time. It was only 3:30. Great, just what he needed, another tired day at work. Well, the world needs someone with real artistic talent, even if that talent is being wasted on painting signs.
Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep, he strode into the bathroom, intent on taking a shower to remove the sweat that had soaked him as he slept. If he had known that today would be the last time he worked in the sign business, he might have cheered, at least, until he found out why.
edited 21st Jan '12 10:02:06 PM by Alleydodger
highly secure
The spear did not want to be touched. More specifically, the Guan Dao did not want to be touched. Jeffrey had tried a couple times and then had given up.
So he lay prostrate, floating through the black abyss, arms and legs splayed out to the side.
"I'm bored."
The world was empty and without meaning.
"You know why you're having that dream, Jeffrey?"
"Don't care. What's wrong with this integral?"
"It's because," Anna said, tapping the end of her pencil to the incorrect portion of the expression, "you're a sad and lonely guy."
Jeffrey brushed the stack of homework in front of him to the side, letting the papers scatter and fall over his chest. Leaning backwards, he stared at the ceiling. "You're quite cruel to your elder brother."
"You called Jessica a 'bimbo' to her face."
"'s true."
Anna kicked her brother in the side. "Look, just because you're trying to be this edgy 'gives no fucks' kind of guy—"
"It was true! Jesus, I just didn't want to talk to her. Fucking kids. Seriously. Fuck 'em."
Anna sighed. "Here. Look. Let's get back to the homework. Mom and dad are going to be pissed if you flunk out of college math, 'mkay?"
"Yeeees, mother."
Routine was comfortable; mediocrity was comfortable. And Anna didn't care that he was pathetic and socially inept. They were friends.
He could live like this.
Whatcha gonna do, little buckaroo? | i be pimpin' madoka fics
Drummer Boy
"Bunnies?"
They leap in a circle around Sadie. A perfect circle. Fucking creepy.
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
She looks around. The ground is gray and dusty. In the sky she sees—
Earth?
"Hey, you stupid rabbits. Why the fuck am I on the moon again?"
Something bonks Sadie on the head. She swats blindly at the air, before realizing that a mortar and pestle lie at her feet. Does the moon's gravity not apply to dreams or something?
She reaches down to pick them up.
Sadie pokes the bowl of noodles with her chopsticks and scowls. She never wanted to be an astronaut. Why all the dreams about the moon? And why the rabbits jumping around her like she's the motherfucking Rabbit Messiah?
"Sadie, please eat your breakfast."
"Never said I wasn't gonna, Mom." She obediently stuffs some noodles and a piece of beef into her mouth and begins planning out her day.
Do math homework during chemistry. Do history homework during math. Beat Derek in a Pokemon battle in study hall. Do English homework during history....
edited 21st Jan '12 11:26:48 PM by SnowyFoxes
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
Yumiko stepped out in the courtyard, the chilly morning air meeting her. She shivered slightly as she took on her glove and found her bow in the glass-door cabinet. Hers was the smallest of them all, as all of her father's students were older and taller than her. However, that meant little in kyudo. Yumiko was her adoptive father's best student, and the others showed her great respect.
The targets were always up in case anyone wanted to practice. After warming up, Yumiko assumed a stance that came as naturally to her as breathing. Soon, arrows were flying from her bow to strike at the target in the distance.
When she had been practising for about half an hour, her father also stepped out into the courtyard. The tall and distinguished man stood in the doorway for a moment, observing her form, before making his presence known. Yumiko turned around with a smile. Many thought that her father was a strict man based on how he looked and the strict way he instructed his students. But he had always been very kind to Yumiko, from the day they adopted her.
"You are up early, Yumiko. Are you nervous about the tournament?"
The coming weekend, Yumiko would be participating in a national kyudo-tournament. Top students from all over the country would be gathering to compete. It would be Yumiko's first tournament on such a level.
"Just a little bit. I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep."
Her father smiled and patted her shoulder.
"That's the spirit. There is nothing like a good bout of morning practice to help clear the mind in the morning. Mind your left arm, however. It is dropping at the last moment."
Yumiko nodded.
"Yes, father."
"Do you want to keep going? I can give you a few more pointers before breakfast."
Yumiko's face lit up with a wide smile. Because of her homework, it had been quite some time since she had been able to practice alone with her father. She bowed.
"Please do, master."
Her father laughed and patted her head.
"Let's get started, then."
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
-Out in the wilderness, a young boy moves through scruffy brush. Strangely, he moves in a manner not befitting a child, meandering and distracted by passing objects, but straight forwards, only going around obstacles too cumbersome to climb over, like a wild beast. He stops and smiles, his quarry in sight. The fox sniffs the air, but the boy is downwind, holding still. When the beast moves forward cautiously, it is too late. The boy runs and leaps, the fox too close to react. Boy and beast tumble to the ground, rolling several times before coming to a halt.-
Pff... Okay, your turn now!
-Peter runs off, as the bewildered fox slowly returns to its senses. While it could have easily bitten the boy's exposed throat and run off until he bled to death, some bizarre imperative prevented it from defending itself. The matter soon forgotten, it runs deeper into the forest, while Peter finds some interesting-looking plants. An entire afternoon goes by, until the boy remembers he should be heading home. Looking wistfully back at the forest, he heads back for home, where the dreaded bath awaits.-
2sin(x)^2+cos(x)^2+2sin(x): solve for x
Hugh scribbled down more work in Calculus, converting various sines and cosines into quadratic formulas and the like. When he went to turn it in, either Hugh tripped or was tripped, falling flat on his face. Probably Hugh's fault though. He got to his feet without saying a word, then dropped the problem sheet on the teacher's desk. Then he pulled out this month's issue of Popular Mechanics.
By offsetting the shaft attached to the gear and lending it an ovoid shape, you can convert a simple rotating gear into a piston...
Hugh skipped ahead to the section on cars, his real dream. Olive fingers danced across the page as unblinking amber eyes scanned the page. Lots of suggestions for conversions to biofuel, V8 engines from scratch—maybe a little too dangerous for him—and even a tutorial on how to give FWD cars AWD. He'd have to try that later...
God, it was pretty hot in here. Like, hotter than normal. Hugh's mind began to wander.
Not ready? That dream was weird, but... It also wasn't scary. It was just... It almost felt zen. Like this was some sort of pivotal moment, and that the dream started something. Probably just his mind anticipating the operation.
Hugh did as he was told and limoed out the door to the next class.
I spy with my little eye...
Terrance Howe hadn't wanted to go. In fact, he'd been perfectly fine just staying where he usually was, either working studiously behind a desk, or facing the occasional terror of actually speaking to a few hundred people. But no. The boss insisted that he took a holiday. Looked peaky for awhile, he said. Do your health good, he said. Meet yourself an exotic island girl, he (and some of his particularly snickery coworkers) said. At least they understood that he wouldn't do well anywhere near one of those tourist traps (although maybe that was due more to the desire to reduce expense than his well-being). So he was being sent to the Island of Fabres, near as he could fathom from the French name, out from Heathrow, on a half-empty plane, peering out the window at the clouds sailing by.
...Something beginning with 'S'.
He blinked. Clouds, in their constant, never-ceasing motion, sometimes rolled themselves into familiar shapes. Ducks, flying saucers, people's faces... And apparently now, snakes. Odd thing, that. He'd never been afraid of those slithery animals, even up close, at the zoo. They'd had a cool, lithe look to them, patient and unobtrusive, until something bothered them.
What bugged him though, is that exactly once an hour, he had seen clouds in the shape of a rose-up serpent, way out there. And it wasn't just any garter snake, mind, nor could it be mistook for anything else. The beastly thing was HUGE, and even had some detail to it. Once, he could swear that it had winked and grinned at him!
That had put him off admiring the scenery. But every hour, he would get an irresistible urge to look back up. And there it was. Looking back at him.
The descent alarm went off and the intern hoped against hope that his arrival and stay would be far less rattling....
It had not taken long for Janice to reach the track; her house wasn't far from the only highschool of note on l'Isle-des-Fabres, and a brisk walk had seen her reach her destination in fifteen minutes. Her journey had seen her work up a bit of a sweat, so the young woman decided to wait until she had calmed down before getting down to the purpose of her visit; as she waited, Janice cast her green eyes across the field and its surrounding bleachers.
The track was practically deserted; at the moment the only other person there was a rather dour-looking fellow* who might have been attractive if he hadn't looked half-dead from fatigue, but as he seemed to be off in his own little world she paid him no heed. Given the hour this was hardly surprising; school wasn't due to start for another forty-five minutes, and as most students would only just be waking up Janice essentially had the place to herself—and, if she wasn't mistaken, today was a scholastic holiday anyway. That suited her just fine; the relative solitude would be a welcome change of pace from the hustle and bustle of college life.
After a few more minutes spent warming up, Janice was ready to begin; moving to the third of the track's five lanes and dropping down into a ready position. She held this position for several moments, her body poised as though she were in a sprinting competition and waiting for the starting signal, then surged into motion and began running. The world around her seemed to become blurred and indistinct as she focused all her attention on this exercise: all she could see was the track ahead; the dry crunch of her shoes' souls on the asphalt, the steady beat of her heart and the measured pace of her own breathing were the only things she could hear; and all that she could feel was the wind as it blew through her shoulder-length raven hair and caressed the exposed skin of her face and hands.
This, as far as she was concerned, had been just what the doctor ordered; there was nothing quite like an early morning run to clear out the cobwebs and get your blood pumping, in Janice's opinion. Already she could scarcely remember the details of her nightmare; all that remained was her memories of the dragon itself, which remained stubbornly lodged in the back of her mind like an irritating splinter. Still, she wasn't going to let some figment of her imagination dampen her spirits; today was shaping up to be a pleasant one—moreso that she had no classes—and she intended to enjoy it to the utmost.
Ten minutes and fifteen laps later, Janice decided that it was time for a short break; as she slowed down, the young woman cast a glance towards the bleachers to see if that man from before was still there. As her gaze reached the haggard-looking fellow, her eyes widened faintly in surprise—he was still there (and she had been joined by another jogger* while she wasn't looking), but a rather peculiar-looking fellow now sat directly behind him on the row above.
In the bleachers, this newcomer—a scruffy and unkempt fellow dressed in a motley assortment of tattered, weatherbeaten and decidedly ill-fitting rags—stared off into space with a slightly vacant smile, his spindly fingers interlaced on his lap as he did so. If he was at all aware of Arden's presence, this newcomer didn't show it, but given that he was seated directly behind the twenty-year-old his presence may have been a little too close for comfort. Where this vagrant had come from was a mystery; he certainly had not been sitting in the bleachers before Arden had taken a seat.
"Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," the wizened old tramp said, his tone conversational and his voice dry and rasping like parchment which had been left out in the sun for far too long. "Might want to brighten up a little and enjoy it while it lasts, sonny; the chance might not come again for a long time."
The stranger paused then to glance at his wrist; there was no watch there, but he nodded sagely just the same.
"Hey, mister!" came a cheerful voice from somewhere to Terrance's right. "Whatcha lookin' at out there?"
Were he to investigate this sudden address, the would-be meteorologist would quickly discover the identity of the culprit responsible; seated in the next row over was a young girl—she couln't possibly have been a day over eight, at the very most, and was quite likely younger than that—who stared at him in naked curiosity, her eyes twinkling faintly with intrigue and a desire for mischief. She tilted her head from side to side in a decidedly inquisitive fashion as she waited for him to answer, idly kicking her legs back and forth.
In the seat next to this child, her mother—a rather beautiful Asian woman in her late twenties or early thirties—glanced over at her and gave her a stern look. "Sandra, that was very impolite," she chided gently. "When you wish to ask someone a question, we do not say 'hey' or 'hey, you'; we say 'excuse me, sir or madam'."
Visibly chastened, the girl deflated for a moment. "Sorry, Mommy."
Her low spirits didn't last long, however; brightening up almost immediately, she turned back to Terrance and leaned forward expectantly. Clearly this young lady wanted to know what he had found so interesting while looking out the window.
Were Andrea to check his email, he might notice a rather peculiar message in his in-box; its subject consisted of little more than his full name, and the tab where the sender's email adress should have been was strangely greyed out. Were he to open it, he would find its contents to be decidedly brief and on the cryptic side:
Andrea Antonio,
the hour draws near. Are you
prepared for what is to come?
-♌-
Andrea was at the moment performing his daily run through of the forums and emails where he kept correspondence with a multitude of people whose relationships with him were dubious at best when he noticed the email of a nature significantly more cryptic yet also probably far more sincere in it's vague predilections than any others who exchanged mails with him ever were. The ominous warning served to confuse and vaguely frighten Andrea, though since he opted to run a virus scan for malicious programs it was obviously fright for the incorrect reasons. It was while he ran this defensive measure that he chanced to look up and notice the family dog had entered his bedroom.
A Chihuahua who had been bought by his mother for reasons largely as superficial as his own online entourage were- namely over professions of an inherent cuteness within the pup that Andrea himself had never been able to see- the family dog had never maintained a good relationship with him. The two were cordial, but Andrea refused to take any part in care of the dog, walking had long been deemed a waste of time despite the benefits it afforded the dog and as a result Andrea himself had almost no interaction with the mutt. The dog's entry of his room was a precedent never yet seen.
"Erm..." It was such that Andrea did not even know the dog's name, so he settled for a series of gestures of dubious meaning to endeavor the dog to leave. He was rebutted with a threatening growl. Now while the Chihuahua was notorious in it's time as an aggressive dog, it was to Andrea's credit or lack thereof that the Chihuahua would not regard him even with the meanest of yaps. The sudden threatening behavior was truly puzzling. Above being a severe detriment to the possibility of Andrea being uninjured in the next few minutes. "Easy... boy...?" The dog was a female.
When it attacked him the first instinct was to jump for it, however Andrea restrained the impulse as best as he could the dog's attack. Needless to say he ended up flying out the panes, lucky in that his home was only a single story. He was cut in several places, fingers, thigh, cheek; and he cried out in a pain he rarely if ever experienced lately, among other things. The dog jumped, sailing through the air with near supernatural strength it was able to propel itself through the now vacant window frame. It didn't even have the misfortune to be halted by shards of broken glass.
Andrea had no time to rest. He had to run- or limp as it were- away from a suddenly hostile dog. Whatever the neighbors thought of this strange scene- where they offered no aid, no less- would pale before the thoughts they would think later that day.
♌
It must've been a short nap since it was still dark, although Jack could make out some sunlight. And as he recalled, school was out anyway for some holiday; He just wanted to be done with the work ahead of time instead of procrastinating it and rushing it at the last minute like what he did on occasions.
He started at a brisk pace out, something that should've started with warm ups for some people. He didn't mind going out like this; He could start at a very fast pace and maintain it rather well, he thought. The track he often visited was close, but he took a much longer route instead. He liked to change it up on occasions. It also gave him more time to think.
Should he tell someone about his dreams? He had no real acquaintances to speak of. His parents try as they might, just gave him the feeling that they weren't there. He tried asking a counselor in his school once when he felt alone; She told him to go try some school clubs and find friends there. He had, but eventually he just left them after a couple visits. Would they even have advice for someone who has constantly strange dreams?
Before Jack knew it, he was already there. Running did that to him. His mind could focus on his thoughts, while his body was on autopilot. It was the only hobby he really enjoyed. It gives him a great feeling, runner's high was it? Whatever it was called, it made him for at least the moment, a feeling of happiness...
...Although it felt slightly awkward with people near him. He was near a woman, someone who was also jogging it seemed. She was a little bit shorter than him, but she seemed a bit older to Jack (not that he could judge age well). She was for lack of a better term in his head, pretty, and was yet another reason why he hoped she didn't notice him.
As she stopped, he stopped also, and cursed himself silently for that. The woman noticed him for the first time, but drew her sight towards the bleachers. Following her eyes, he saw a man, who looked rather...off-put by something. Behind him was another man, who seemed strange to Jack. The latter seemed to be talking, although Jack couldn't hear it over his now loud heartbeats and his breathing.
(Avatar by Coffee)
After sleeping fitfully for what felt like an eternity, Vasiliki finally got up.
She showered, and, after putting her clothes on, made her way to the kitchen; as was usual in holidays, she was in charge of breakfast.
She blinked groggily as she turned the lights on. Massaging her brow - for her head ached after sleeping badly - she put the kettle on the stove. Shaking her head - she had forgotten all of the nightmare, save for that odd voice, and it disturbed her - she took a few vegetables out of the refrigerator and started to cut them. Whistling,
she sprinkled some herbs on the salad, and put a pan on the stove.
The kettle began to whistle, so she turned the flame underneath it off, and poured some hot water into the teapot that stood, waiting, near the stove. Replacing the kettle in its place, she proceeded to prepare a spiced omelette; that done, she set the table, and sat down. Pouring herself a mug of tea, she waited for her parents to wake up.
After a while, they did so; her mother walked into the kitchen. "Morning, Kiki," her mother said.
"Morning, mom," said Vasiliki.
"Are you all-right?" her mom asked. "You sound as though did not sleep well."
Vasiliki smiled tiredly. "Spot on, mom," she said. "I did, in fact have a nightmare..." -she frowned- "but it'll be OK, I'm sure," she said, smiling. "Let's eat breakfast, shall we?"
Her father walked into the kitchen as well. "Morning, Vasiliki, honey," he said.
"Morning papa," said Vasiliki.
"Come, sit down, Sotirios," said her mom, "it is time for breakfast."
"What have we, salad, omelette, and tea? fantastic," said Sotirios.
With that, they sat down and stared eating.
When they were done, Vasiliki said, "Mom, can you take care of the dishes? I want to meet Zinovia, she said she had something interesting to show me."
"All-right, Kiki," said her mom.
The girl got up, and, after hugging her mom, went outside. The Leonidases' home was a few minutes' walk from l'Isle-des-Fabres's small, ancient church; she reached it in no time, and entered its courtyard. There she sat in the shadow of the ancient plane-tree*, waiting for Zinovia to arrive.
edited 23rd Jan '12 1:36:32 AM by desdendelle
The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground
CAD 2. Computer Architectural Design. 2. Hugh lazily eyed his drawing, confident in the fact that he had, indeed, gotten all the proportions correct. He saved the file and sent it to the teacher. Now what? The rules about internet access were pretty lax in the school, and the teacher knew he was done with the work assigned them, so...
0 Messages.
Oh, okay. Hugh kept his email open in one tab and opened a second, paging through his various webcomics and forums. Dropped a hi in a few IRC channels. Checked Facebook.
0 Notifications.
Oh, okay.
He checked Reddit last, going through r/cars, r/cartalk, r/autos.
Then, realizing that he had not smiled in the past forty minutes, pulled up r/funny—holding all the other tabs open on chatrooms, facebook, and email—and looked for something to actually make him smile.
Drummer Boy
Sadie leaves the apartment building, battered Android still in her hand. She keeps the IRC channel open in one tab and goes through the rest of her morning checklist: webcomics, Gmail, and deviantart. She got a few comments and favorites on the sketch she uploaded right before going to bed, and one new watcher. The day is looking good.
While she waits at the crosswalk, she decides she might as well find out what the hell Reddit even is. A quick investigation tells her that Tumblr is still superior.
The last battle's curtains will open on stage!
A true gentleduck
Arden had been lost within the depths of his own mind for the last... Who knows how long. He had not noticed the new sounds that now filled the track; the constant sound of feet hitting the ground and a quiet, non-distinct breathing behind him.
"Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day,"
Arden nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise; for all he knew he was all by himself there at the track. It was then he saw a young girl looking straight at him, and for a second their eyes met.
"Might want to brighten up a little and enjoy it while it lasts, sonny; the chance might not come again for a long time."
He jumped out of his seat and turned around ready to raise his fists. "W-Who the hell are you, you fuckin' bum!?" He was rather flustered. He didn't like having his back turned to others; it made him feel rather... uncomfortable.
The stranger paused then to glance at his wrist; there was no watch there, but he nodded sagely just the same.
Seeing this, Arden didn't know what to say. Who was this weirdo? Where did he come from?! Arden knew he had been lost in thought, but for someone to sneak up behind him without him noticing was very strange to him. He laughed, althought a little nervously. "What do you think you're looking at?" He asked as the strange man gazed down at his bare wrist. "Think you've got a clock? Hah! With those clothes I bet you can't even buy yourself a fuckin' earthworm, damn stoner nut."
It didn't help much. Even though he insulted and belittled the stranger, Arden still felt quite uneasy around him. He quickly turned around and walked away from the bleachers at a slightly faster pace then he'd normally walk. As he did, he glanced back over at the girl who he noticed a few seconds earlier, and he saw that there was yet another guy there. "Fuckin' hell, when did this place get so damn popular." He whispered to himself as he rolled his eyes indignantly.
edited 23rd Jan '12 2:00:41 PM by AustralAnima
Vir Sapit Qui Pauca Loquitur
"Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power."
—Abraham Lincoln
"God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?"
—Friedrich Nietzsche
As was often the case, the dream started with a roar.
She stood on a vast, sun-baked plain beneath a cloudless sky stained the colour of blood; cracked riverbeds crisscrossed the landscape like the trails of enormous snakes, and everywhere she looked the air rippled as it rose from the ground, blurring her surroundings and making it difficult to see anything clearly. Something grey and enormous loomed off to the left, a towering wall of what might have been stone that rose high into the air and sprawled across the land like an ugly wart; smoke and flame vomited forth from the top of this imposing structure, and at its base small figures that might have been people had fallen to their knees and were abasing themselves as if in supplication. She could not understand the words uttered by these people, but it seemed clear from their tones that they were begging for mercy.
In response to their pleas, there came only guttural peals of mocking, inhuman laughter from somewhere up above; then the people began to quail with fear and wailed in dismay as a deafening bellow rang out, and something utterly vast and utterly monstrous erupted from the roof of this mountain amidst a column of flames. It circled overhead, its serpentine body as red as the setting sun and its black claws gleaming faintly in the ruddy light, and let out a laugh so impossibly deep that it made her bones shudder and caused the very land to shake.
Screaming now, the people who had knelt in supplication before this grim grey citadel mere moments ago rose to their feet and turned to flee; they had scarcely managed to take more than five steps before the beast’s jaws popped open with a hiss of escaping gas, and the back of its throat lit up with a positively hellish light as it spat out a vast torrent of crimson fire. The poor wretches howled in agony, making her sick to her stomach; thankfully their screams did not last long, for the dragon’s fiery breath reduced its victims to scattered ashes within a matter of moments. The knowledge that their agony had been brief brought the young woman no comfort, however, for the same flames which had incinerated those people now swept towards her, and she too turned to run.
She might as well not have bothered, for the dragon’s deadly exhalations swept over her in the blink of an eye; extreme heat suffused her body, her skin turning black and cracking in the fire like so much kindling, and as the flesh began to slough off of her bones like wax from a candle she let out a piercing scream…
***
And promptly woke up.
It took Janice Cantor’s mind a few moments to take stock of her surroundings, still shaken as it was from her recent ordeal; when she realized that she was in her room and perfectly fine, the young woman’s fear was quickly replaced by irritation, and with a groan she flopped back onto her mattress.
“Is everything alright up there?” came a muffled voice from outside.
“I’m fine, mom,” Janice replied irritably. “Just a bad dream, that’s all.”
Evidently assuaged by this, her mother advised her to get some sleep and walked away; as the older woman’s footfalls receded into the distance, the brown-skinned girl cast a bleary-eyed glance at her alarm clock. If their dull red numbers were accurate, then it was just shy of quarter past four in the morning, and as she saw this Janice let out another groan; while the young woman was something of an early riser, as far as she was concerned the current time was one for sleeping rather than wakefulness.
“Damn nightmares,” she muttered sourly, rolling onto her side and trying to go back to sleep. It was been the third time in as many days that her dreams had been plagued by that big red fire-snorting lizard, and each time these nocturnal visitations had been more vivid than the last; the details frequently changed from one dream to the next—on at least one indication the dream had unfolded from the dragon’s perspective, and through its eyes she had watched the beast immolate herself—but several things remained constant: the setting of the dream itself was always largely the same, the dragon was always present, and she always woke up in a cold sweat.
It was decidedly inconvenient, to say the very least, and for the life of her Janice couldn’t understand why she was suffering from them in the first place; sure, she’d watched plenty of scary movies in her time and had occasionally gotten nightmares afterwards as a result, but they’d never been this intense and none of them had ever involved an evil Asian dragon. Maybe it had something to do with some kind of repressed childhood trauma; maybe the orphanage where she’d spent the first few years of her life had kept a snake as pet and it had bitten her back in the day, or maybe her birth parents had had a thing for reptiles and scared her with some gecko. Or maybe it was simply the result of her father’s questionable culinary experiments; perhaps she’d have to ask him to stop putting so many spices into the soup from now on.
Whatever the case may be, the young woman often found it difficult to sleep after one of these episodes, and this one was no exception; try as she might, sleep refused to claim her in its welcoming embrace, and she spent the better part of ninety minutes tossing and turning as she tried—and failed—to make her mind go blank so that she might better drift off. Nothing worked, alas*, and as the clock beeped to announce that it was six in the morning she threw off the covers and rose to her feet.
Today’s morning was obviously a bust as far as catching z’s went, so she might as well make the best of things; after taking fifteen minutes to have a quick shower, Janice donned her usual red tracksuit, left a note for her parents on the dining room table and left for the track. Running a few laps should help to clear my head, the young woman thought as she walked out the door; nightmares or no, nothing’s going to stop me from enjoying this day. Besides, it'll probably turn out to be nothing in the end.
She could not imagine how wrong she was…
The Danse Macabre Codex