Of Dreamscapes: G-Arc, pt. 2
He landed in the middle of a town this time. It was a broken place, like everywhere else it seemed. At one time it might have been a bustling little village, now it looked like a quarry that had some homeless vagrants as residents. As he rose, he took note of the clean walkway he stood on, no weeds or dirt marred its surface. Neither did any other being appear to near him, it was a ghost town, and currently he was the ghost.
The air was stale here, unsurprising really given the ruination he was surrounded by. It felt almost like the wind had given up, refused to exist in such conditions. He wished he could do the same. He began trekking up and down the walkways of this place, peering into broken houses, occasionally shouting to listen for a reply, trying desperately to find any source of life beyond himself, and failing.
He let out a sigh, wiping sweat from his brow and cursing the early autumn heat. He had come upon what would have been the town center where small, broken benches lay amongst the ruins of food carts and vendor stalls. The houses in the area were once large, probably lavish abodes, if the peeling paint was anything to go by. Without the bustle of people and din of society, the market felt hollow and sad.
He took a seat on a bench that had somehow managed to stay upright and relatively level. The wood groaned beneath him as though he weighed twice what he did, but things were weird in this place, he thought, this was not unsurprising. He leaned back and stared upwards; it always seemed to be evening or dusk in these places, no stars filled the sky, no moon to gently light the way, just clouds, and an aberrant glow that highlighted their edges.
He was torn from his reverie by a sharp pain in his shoulder, it lanced from the skin straight to the bone in one straight line. He quickly threw his hand to the spot to identify the pain, gasping in sudden anguish. He heard a shrill squeak behind him as his fingers grasped the handle of a small blade. It was wrapped in a thin linen that was slowly turning scarlet, and buried up past where a hilt would be, had this been a proper dagger. Instead, as he ripped the thing free, the jagged edges and bits of rust alarmed him, as did the razor edge near the tip. He looked at the blade, then the fresh blood coating his arm as it oozed out, then behind him, to the little girl who stood there, cowering like she’d just angered a monster. “W-why would you do this?” was all the boy could think to ask. She offered no response, just panicked eyes the size of dinner plates. Her clothing was ratty, with some patchwork pants and shoes, and a heavy jacket that never had a chance of fitting her.
He threw the blade to the side, it clanged on the cobble path and out of relevance. His hand pressed against his wound, and he found his adrenaline was flowing, much like the blood that dripped from the tips of his fingers. “Well?” he demanded, “Answer me! You would stab a stranger without inquiry? Without thinking of their well-being?”
He took a step towards her, she cowered back, tripping over some loose debris, “You would kill someone without even knowing them?! For what? My clothing? My weapon? Your own amusement?! Well?!” spit flew from his mouth the more he worked himself into a rage, the more terrified she grew, and the more she didn’t answer. Her panic turned into shame and fearful tears began streaming down her cheeks.
The boy was standing above her now, roaring his indignities, when suddenly the girls eyes went wide again, and the blood drained from her face. The boy stopped mid-rant, noticing that something else had caught her attention, and that he’d been terrorizing a little girl.
Before he could turn around, he felt the icy cold wind he had felt the night before pass through him, his entire being, and the amoeba that was the beast scooped the girl up in front of him, dragging her off towards a house.
She screamed, tried to kick and fight, but it was impossible to escape a million points of contact and the vice grip each one held on her. The boy was confused, watching her get dragged away, but quickly he remembered himself and took off after them.
“Wait! Stop, fiend!” he cried out as he watched the girl get dragged into a crumbling house. He made it inside shortly after, looking around frantically for the beast. He heard struggles coming from below the rotted floorboards he stood on and quickly saw the trapdoor that led to the cellar.
He threw the door open wide, still absently holding a hand to the wound in his shoulder, feeling the throb of pain as his breath grew ragged. He dropped straight down the hole, ignoring the ladder and turned towards the creature. It’s hind legs were the shape of a dinosaur, massive and scaly, it’s torso resembled a lion’s in size, but a snake’s in appearance, and the head was that of a bear with tiny, dark wings that sprouted from its ears to keep the head aloft.
“Unhand her, beast!” the boy commanded with all the gusto he could manage while being out of breath and lesser of blood.
The bear’s mouth grew twice its size as that maniacal grin appeared, “Careful what you wish for,” it said as the formless cloud that held the girl in place suddenly exploded outwards, tearing the arms from the girls sockets, watering the hard-packed soil with her blood.
She never screamed, never made a peep, the massive eyes in her head were still filled to the brim with panic, but there was a serene look on her face, one of acceptance.
He watched in horror as the beast stepped forward, absorbing what was left of the girl into its body and turning into wisps of smoke that faded into nothingness. It towered over him, seeming to take up any open space that the cellar once held.
The boy shouted, “How could you do that?! She was young, innocent! She had her entire life ahead of her!”
The beast cocked its head to the side, the snake-like torso leaned down to meet the boy face-to-face, “I did no more than I was asked, or did you wish to kill her yourself?”
The boy couldn’t help but take a step back, startled at the question, bumping against the shoddy ladder that threatened to snap given an improper glance, “O-of course I didn’t want to kill her!”
“That’s not what it looked like to me, mere moments ago you were on the verge of raining your fury upon her, or was I mistaken?”
The boy looked down at his feet in shame, clenching a fist to his side and feeling that throb of pain in his shoulder again, “I couldn’t kill a helpless person, not like you, not like the villain and murderous fiend you are!” his voice sounded righteous in this cramped basement, his fury was justified, he met the beast’s eyes with renewed vigor, “You deserve nothing less than what you’ve given.”
“Go on then, draw your blade, strike me down!” the beast commanded, leering at him, the pencil-scribbles of its eyes vibrating intensely.
The boy grit his teeth, pushing his foot back into something resembling a fighting stance. He placed his left hand on his scabbard, and his right gripped the worn leather of the blade’s handle. His mind demanded he pull the blade free, to let the gleaming steel taste bitter flesh and victory, but his muscles defied his command. Again he threw his will towards his body, but staunchly they refused. He let go, flexing and moving his arm around, testing his capabilities with fresh worry. That dark chuckle floated across the room and slapped the boy’s face like playful glove.
“Can’t do it, can you?”
“Cursed beast! What have you done!”
“I’ve done nothing, fool. It is only your sense of self-preservation staying your hand.”
“Lies! You’ve bewitched my sword to keep yourself alive!”
The beast shook its head, “Call it what you will, not that you’d do anything else.”
The boy felt his frustration rising, felt his hands clench at his sides, felt the rage boiling… and releasing. There was no explosion, not anymore, he didn’t have the energy, or will, to explode.
“What are you?” the boy finally asked.
The creature shifted again, it's shape always something new, “You already know what I am. Whether you admit it or not is none of my concern.”
The boy frowned, his brow furrowed. The thing was right and he knew it, but he insisted, ”Yes, but what are you?” he heard the thing sigh, did they even have lungs to sigh with?
“Always so curious, your kind. Curious but never thinking of the consequences. If you must name me…” it thought for a moment, the swirling static consuming what little light they had, “Fragment, I think would be the closest thing in your language. Yes, I think that fits well.” it nodded sagely, as though it had transcended pitiful human knowledge.
“Fragment? A fragment of what? Nightmare? Horror?” the boy was confused now, it was written all over his face.
The shade rolled it’s drawn-on eyes, the maddening grin never leaving its face, “A fragment of you, what else?” more confusion from the boy, the shadow huffed in exasperation.
“A piece of you, a part of your psyche, your sense of self, your perception of being, your soul, I’ve heard some of you say before. Point being: something in you fractured, and I am the result.”
“But you’re nothing like me!” the boy shook his head, defiant.
“Nothing? Even now your brain struggles to define my shape, to convince itself that it doesn’t recognize what stands before it, plain as day. You cannot recognize me because you cannot recognize yourself,” the shadow crossed it’s arms, leaning back onto a non-existent wall, “you think I will go away by your valiant deeds, but we both know better, and I CAN’T leave, not yet anyway.”
The boy was more confused now than ever. This being, a part of him? He couldn’t begin to fathom such a thing. Before his eyes, the beast shifted, the static of it’s skin jumped and lurched, blackness dripping down and evaporating into the soil. It’s face had disappeared now, faded into the blackness with the rest of it. The crossed arms became massive paws with talons fitted to their digits, the lower half became an amorphous blob, a roiling slick of void that continually absorbed itself.
The Cheshire grin returned alone, the eyes were missing, “IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME…” it said, the teeth coalescing as it spoke, “I NEED TO FEED.” The being, Fragment, barreled towards the door, slamming into it at full force, shaking the wooden supports of the tiny, barren house. It’s form was too wide to fit through the doorway, but without a care it shoved and warped and squeezed its way through.
The boy was alone again in this world, alone with only his thoughts. These places… this world? He wanted to call it that, but it felt wrong. A distant part of his mind screamed to him that it was all a dream, a fiction, none of it was real, how could it be? But here, where he now stood, in this dank little cellar of a ruined home, a gash in his shoulder and the sounds of bloody death trickling to him past the ruined walls, how could this be false?
His eyes opened and once again he lay in his bed. He went to rub his shoulder where he’d been stabbed and was surprised to find a pen had made its way into his bed, lodging itself at an awkward angle and prodding him all night, he supposed.
His alarm was not going off this time, though it was just becoming morning outside (or was this evening?). He sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes, and was shocked to discover his face was wet, that there was even a small wet spot on his pillow. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, get that dream out of his head, but it clung firmly to his thoughts.
He glanced to his phone, he hadn’t looked at it since yesterday, wasn’t even sure what the date really was. Two missed calls, three texts, the most recent simply read
We missed you today, but we understand. ~Love
He felt a sudden lump is his throat, like he’s just swallowed a warm tennis ball, felt the sudden gush of water in his eyes, and he blinked like mad trying to get rid of them. Why I am I sitting here trying to be tough? Who am I trying to convince? He thought to himself. He knew the answer.
He let the tears fall freely for a time, there was no use in trying to stop them. When he felt he had cried himself dry he once again rose to his feet, plodded out to his kitchen for something to eat.
Dreaming was exhausting work, apparently.
The air was stale here, unsurprising really given the ruination he was surrounded by. It felt almost like the wind had given up, refused to exist in such conditions. He wished he could do the same. He began trekking up and down the walkways of this place, peering into broken houses, occasionally shouting to listen for a reply, trying desperately to find any source of life beyond himself, and failing.
He let out a sigh, wiping sweat from his brow and cursing the early autumn heat. He had come upon what would have been the town center where small, broken benches lay amongst the ruins of food carts and vendor stalls. The houses in the area were once large, probably lavish abodes, if the peeling paint was anything to go by. Without the bustle of people and din of society, the market felt hollow and sad.
He took a seat on a bench that had somehow managed to stay upright and relatively level. The wood groaned beneath him as though he weighed twice what he did, but things were weird in this place, he thought, this was not unsurprising. He leaned back and stared upwards; it always seemed to be evening or dusk in these places, no stars filled the sky, no moon to gently light the way, just clouds, and an aberrant glow that highlighted their edges.
He was torn from his reverie by a sharp pain in his shoulder, it lanced from the skin straight to the bone in one straight line. He quickly threw his hand to the spot to identify the pain, gasping in sudden anguish. He heard a shrill squeak behind him as his fingers grasped the handle of a small blade. It was wrapped in a thin linen that was slowly turning scarlet, and buried up past where a hilt would be, had this been a proper dagger. Instead, as he ripped the thing free, the jagged edges and bits of rust alarmed him, as did the razor edge near the tip. He looked at the blade, then the fresh blood coating his arm as it oozed out, then behind him, to the little girl who stood there, cowering like she’d just angered a monster. “W-why would you do this?” was all the boy could think to ask. She offered no response, just panicked eyes the size of dinner plates. Her clothing was ratty, with some patchwork pants and shoes, and a heavy jacket that never had a chance of fitting her.
He threw the blade to the side, it clanged on the cobble path and out of relevance. His hand pressed against his wound, and he found his adrenaline was flowing, much like the blood that dripped from the tips of his fingers. “Well?” he demanded, “Answer me! You would stab a stranger without inquiry? Without thinking of their well-being?”
He took a step towards her, she cowered back, tripping over some loose debris, “You would kill someone without even knowing them?! For what? My clothing? My weapon? Your own amusement?! Well?!” spit flew from his mouth the more he worked himself into a rage, the more terrified she grew, and the more she didn’t answer. Her panic turned into shame and fearful tears began streaming down her cheeks.
The boy was standing above her now, roaring his indignities, when suddenly the girls eyes went wide again, and the blood drained from her face. The boy stopped mid-rant, noticing that something else had caught her attention, and that he’d been terrorizing a little girl.
Before he could turn around, he felt the icy cold wind he had felt the night before pass through him, his entire being, and the amoeba that was the beast scooped the girl up in front of him, dragging her off towards a house.
She screamed, tried to kick and fight, but it was impossible to escape a million points of contact and the vice grip each one held on her. The boy was confused, watching her get dragged away, but quickly he remembered himself and took off after them.
“Wait! Stop, fiend!” he cried out as he watched the girl get dragged into a crumbling house. He made it inside shortly after, looking around frantically for the beast. He heard struggles coming from below the rotted floorboards he stood on and quickly saw the trapdoor that led to the cellar.
He threw the door open wide, still absently holding a hand to the wound in his shoulder, feeling the throb of pain as his breath grew ragged. He dropped straight down the hole, ignoring the ladder and turned towards the creature. It’s hind legs were the shape of a dinosaur, massive and scaly, it’s torso resembled a lion’s in size, but a snake’s in appearance, and the head was that of a bear with tiny, dark wings that sprouted from its ears to keep the head aloft.
“Unhand her, beast!” the boy commanded with all the gusto he could manage while being out of breath and lesser of blood.
The bear’s mouth grew twice its size as that maniacal grin appeared, “Careful what you wish for,” it said as the formless cloud that held the girl in place suddenly exploded outwards, tearing the arms from the girls sockets, watering the hard-packed soil with her blood.
She never screamed, never made a peep, the massive eyes in her head were still filled to the brim with panic, but there was a serene look on her face, one of acceptance.
He watched in horror as the beast stepped forward, absorbing what was left of the girl into its body and turning into wisps of smoke that faded into nothingness. It towered over him, seeming to take up any open space that the cellar once held.
The boy shouted, “How could you do that?! She was young, innocent! She had her entire life ahead of her!”
The beast cocked its head to the side, the snake-like torso leaned down to meet the boy face-to-face, “I did no more than I was asked, or did you wish to kill her yourself?”
The boy couldn’t help but take a step back, startled at the question, bumping against the shoddy ladder that threatened to snap given an improper glance, “O-of course I didn’t want to kill her!”
“That’s not what it looked like to me, mere moments ago you were on the verge of raining your fury upon her, or was I mistaken?”
The boy looked down at his feet in shame, clenching a fist to his side and feeling that throb of pain in his shoulder again, “I couldn’t kill a helpless person, not like you, not like the villain and murderous fiend you are!” his voice sounded righteous in this cramped basement, his fury was justified, he met the beast’s eyes with renewed vigor, “You deserve nothing less than what you’ve given.”
“Go on then, draw your blade, strike me down!” the beast commanded, leering at him, the pencil-scribbles of its eyes vibrating intensely.
The boy grit his teeth, pushing his foot back into something resembling a fighting stance. He placed his left hand on his scabbard, and his right gripped the worn leather of the blade’s handle. His mind demanded he pull the blade free, to let the gleaming steel taste bitter flesh and victory, but his muscles defied his command. Again he threw his will towards his body, but staunchly they refused. He let go, flexing and moving his arm around, testing his capabilities with fresh worry. That dark chuckle floated across the room and slapped the boy’s face like playful glove.
“Can’t do it, can you?”
“Cursed beast! What have you done!”
“I’ve done nothing, fool. It is only your sense of self-preservation staying your hand.”
“Lies! You’ve bewitched my sword to keep yourself alive!”
The beast shook its head, “Call it what you will, not that you’d do anything else.”
The boy felt his frustration rising, felt his hands clench at his sides, felt the rage boiling… and releasing. There was no explosion, not anymore, he didn’t have the energy, or will, to explode.
“What are you?” the boy finally asked.
The creature shifted again, it's shape always something new, “You already know what I am. Whether you admit it or not is none of my concern.”
The boy frowned, his brow furrowed. The thing was right and he knew it, but he insisted, ”Yes, but what are you?” he heard the thing sigh, did they even have lungs to sigh with?
“Always so curious, your kind. Curious but never thinking of the consequences. If you must name me…” it thought for a moment, the swirling static consuming what little light they had, “Fragment, I think would be the closest thing in your language. Yes, I think that fits well.” it nodded sagely, as though it had transcended pitiful human knowledge.
“Fragment? A fragment of what? Nightmare? Horror?” the boy was confused now, it was written all over his face.
The shade rolled it’s drawn-on eyes, the maddening grin never leaving its face, “A fragment of you, what else?” more confusion from the boy, the shadow huffed in exasperation.
“A piece of you, a part of your psyche, your sense of self, your perception of being, your soul, I’ve heard some of you say before. Point being: something in you fractured, and I am the result.”
“But you’re nothing like me!” the boy shook his head, defiant.
“Nothing? Even now your brain struggles to define my shape, to convince itself that it doesn’t recognize what stands before it, plain as day. You cannot recognize me because you cannot recognize yourself,” the shadow crossed it’s arms, leaning back onto a non-existent wall, “you think I will go away by your valiant deeds, but we both know better, and I CAN’T leave, not yet anyway.”
The boy was more confused now than ever. This being, a part of him? He couldn’t begin to fathom such a thing. Before his eyes, the beast shifted, the static of it’s skin jumped and lurched, blackness dripping down and evaporating into the soil. It’s face had disappeared now, faded into the blackness with the rest of it. The crossed arms became massive paws with talons fitted to their digits, the lower half became an amorphous blob, a roiling slick of void that continually absorbed itself.
The Cheshire grin returned alone, the eyes were missing, “IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME…” it said, the teeth coalescing as it spoke, “I NEED TO FEED.” The being, Fragment, barreled towards the door, slamming into it at full force, shaking the wooden supports of the tiny, barren house. It’s form was too wide to fit through the doorway, but without a care it shoved and warped and squeezed its way through.
The boy was alone again in this world, alone with only his thoughts. These places… this world? He wanted to call it that, but it felt wrong. A distant part of his mind screamed to him that it was all a dream, a fiction, none of it was real, how could it be? But here, where he now stood, in this dank little cellar of a ruined home, a gash in his shoulder and the sounds of bloody death trickling to him past the ruined walls, how could this be false?
His eyes opened and once again he lay in his bed. He went to rub his shoulder where he’d been stabbed and was surprised to find a pen had made its way into his bed, lodging itself at an awkward angle and prodding him all night, he supposed.
His alarm was not going off this time, though it was just becoming morning outside (or was this evening?). He sat up to rub the sleep from his eyes, and was shocked to discover his face was wet, that there was even a small wet spot on his pillow. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, get that dream out of his head, but it clung firmly to his thoughts.
He glanced to his phone, he hadn’t looked at it since yesterday, wasn’t even sure what the date really was. Two missed calls, three texts, the most recent simply read
We missed you today, but we understand. ~Love
He felt a sudden lump is his throat, like he’s just swallowed a warm tennis ball, felt the sudden gush of water in his eyes, and he blinked like mad trying to get rid of them. Why I am I sitting here trying to be tough? Who am I trying to convince? He thought to himself. He knew the answer.
He let the tears fall freely for a time, there was no use in trying to stop them. When he felt he had cried himself dry he once again rose to his feet, plodded out to his kitchen for something to eat.
Dreaming was exhausting work, apparently.
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