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 Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2018 11:47 am
Life in Nightmares.
There were dreams - had he known, he wouldn’t have expected that.
There were dreams and they were terrible and too real.
Drowning, the fall into the deep ocean, the waves, the current that pulled him down and back and forth. The light above him was like a fading desperate hope, the only thing that remained was the dark and the wet and the pressure. It crept up his nose, into his ears, it pressed hard against his lungs and pressed, and pressed till he couldn’t take it anymore. His lungs and throat burned, the pressure behind his eyes, ringing in his ears and he exhaled… and inhaled.
Sucking water in, or trying, but the body isn’t inclined to let such things pass, and the struggle continued.
How long had it been since they had crushed something deeper.
They reforged him in their own image.
They rebuilt him, she… rebuilt, he thought sometimes there had been more than that. That she’d saved something in him that she herself had lost.
But she was gone now too, lost to something darker than the seas.
He might have said he was drowning, but he wasn’t sure it wasn’t just a memory.
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2018 11:48 am
Reflecting
Even in his uniform, he couldn’t imagine them as proud. Even as a General King, even if they could know everything it meant, everything he had sacrificed to earn the rank. Everything that he had done, he couldn’t imagine them being proud.
He remembered the book, the yellowed pages gone soft edged, curling corners that smelled like old bookshop. His favorite moves dog eared, the bookmark that he’d finally gotten to try and save it so well worn that it looked like it was made of spiderwebs.
The spine of the book looked like he felt, too well creased, opened and shut too many times and trying so hard to keep everything it knew in one place.
Had it started losing pages? Had he?
At least with a book you could ruffle through the pagination, look for missing pieces, half remembered pictures.
But with memories, and god, when they started overlapping, mixing about with dreams, then how could you tell what was missing? How could you tell what was the original page, and what was just notes that mocked at the original typeface.
It wasn’t fair.
Life wasn’t fair.
He’d never expected it to be, but all the same hope existed, hope.. Was harder to kill than dreams.
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2018 11:49 am
Then ---
Dust, the world returns to dust but it feels like drowning, the pressure, the pounding behind his eyes. Pain is the summary of the world, ‘Benediction’, is what a small part of his mind whispers. ‘Karma’
Were those his words? His thoughts? Or someone else's? Oh god it hurt…it hurt… so much.
Were their voices? He wasn’t sure…
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Posted: Mon Sep 24, 2018 11:51 am
The hardest thing though, when he woke, was the dreams. Interspersed with the room, with the memories. There were the dreams, they were so very real, so unbelievably real.
He ‘remembered’ officers from those dreams, he remembered names and faces and bits about their lives. It mixed so perfectly with real people, it was hard to split them apart. Like pieces of the ‘life’ he lived. Stupid things like… cats, owning cats, real cats not… talking afronteries.
Perhaps it was foolish how much he missed them, animals whom had never existed.
Especially, given how much, and how often he’d told himself that he hated cats, after his first run in with a guardian shortly after he’d been recruited after all.
Perhaps that was why, when he was able to take enough steps on his own, he found himself at the shelter, stroking a small soft head.
“I’ll…. I’d like to adopt her, please.”
“She’s a lot of work sir… are you…”
“Yes. Yes I’m sure.”
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Posted: Thu Oct 25, 2018 8:44 am
You’re an irritable, angry, aching mess by the time Halloween nears around the corner. The excitement of the approaching holiday is lost to you, as the lack of sleep and growing sores all over your body take focus….that is, until you notice a strange, odd glow in your possession.
The business card that had come with the strange pumpkin has begun to glow and you feel yourself prompted to pull it out - you may have sworn you threw it away, you may have thought you had misplaced it but suddenly it’s there and a thin, gold line from the end of the store’s name begins to glide across the paper, directing you to the back of the card.
As you watch with a mixture of curiosity and dread, the gold line begins to draw a pattern. It doesn’t take long for you to recognize what it’s drawing -- a map.
But a map to where, exactly?
You find yourself pulled in the direction the map leads, card clutched tightly in your hand…
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