At some point in the evening, my head buried itself into the pages of the volume, sweet scent of paper and ink lulling me to sleep beside the crackling hearth. From above the mantle the methodical plodding of time echoed into my dreams.
I was on a gear of most vast proportions. The fire was below, ruddy and to my horror fast approaching. The metal upon which I stood transfixed began to warm. Soon, it would burn. Reviving my determination to survive, a long and thick chord in the fabric of my bullheaded fortitude, I roused myself to the cause and struck off across the gear. At the edge I could look down and see the fires licking the fuel of my soul. I stood agape, watching my own damnation.
"So this is Hell," I said, and looked up for an escape. As if created by my very wish to leave a stairwell appeared, long and winding and patterned like a piano so with every step I ascended in scale. If the flames were not upon my heels perhaps I would have lingered long enough to produce a tune, or even a harmony to a little night music. As it were, my feet flew up the stairs with all the haste of survival...
· Sat Dec 14, 2013 @ 06:17pm · 0 Comments