Of Dreamscapes: G-Arc, pt. 3
He felt himself slipping more and more from his life. He wandered his apartment, muttering to himself about the creature, the places he’d seen, the deep pangs of regret and unending pits of depression. Nostalgia was the worst of it, he decided. It masked memories that weren’t enjoyable as something that to be celebrated, cherished, nurtured to enjoy later, he hated the feeling. Nothing was sacred anymore, now even his dreams hunted and pecked at his consciousness.
He wasn’t sure why, or how he managed, but for three days he stayed awake. Partly from sheer will to avoid the torment his nightly life had brought him, partly because his body simply wouldn’t allow it. He had been asleep so much lately, his body was pent up, needed to burn off some excess; unfortunately the most active thing he did was eat.
He sat in front of his TV, the same channel had been on repeat since 2 AM, and he stared past it. The infomercial wasn’t important, nothing was important, nothing mattered, not even the nothingness his life had become. Especially not that. His head lolled back and forth, the muscles of his neck giving up their dutiful quest to keep his head on straight. He was alone; it felt like he always had been, really, now was no different. It just felt like the world had finally kicked him out, finally set him down outside the ring that was society and turned a blind eye.
He was alone, and then suddenly he wasn’t. He missed the appearance, but he felt it as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and that grim cold seeped out next to him. Slowly his head turned towards the presence, and he was met with that lurching, massive smile. His vapid face quickly became one of disgust, pushing himself away into the corner of his sofa. “The hell, why are you here?!”
“I’d ask the same of you,” the beast replied, it’s face rotating upside down, the massive grin now a frown, “You know what has to happen.”
He swallowed hard, “Y-you can’t make me!”
The grin spread out beyond the boundaries of its face, “No, but you can’t stay awake forever.”
He struck out at the creature, but with a puff it was gone, had never been there. The black ink that had been dripping off its body and staining his furniture was gone with it. He blinked a few times, hallucination or not, it was right, and he suddenly felt very exhausted; like dragging himself free from muddy bog that threatened to swallow him, he was very, very tired. He dreaded lying down in his bed, dreaded the inevitable spinning that would take him back down the hole, but he suffered through it.
He had to face the beast.
He landed on soft soil, graced by delicate plants that had long since died and lay rotting, becoming one with the soil. For once, he recognized where he was: the hilltop belonged to his childhood, the vegetation: a field of flowers he ran through during sunny spring mornings, bits of dew wetting his shins. He knew where he was, and his heart cried out in pain. It was too soon to see this, to remember those times, but even as his mind screamed it was all a dream, it held a softer voice now as well, one that reminded him that you cannot have happiness without it’s counter, nor could he continue to hide from the creature that stalked him.
Drying his eyes, he stood up slowly, swallowing hard he cried out, “Come forth, beast!” He had not chosen this place, but it had found him nonetheless, “Come forth, I would name thee!” The gray-blue clouds swirled above him like oil on water, the winds blowing them in all directions to and fro.
From within them, a blackness slowly took form, collecting into a thundercloud before it weighed so much it fell from the heavens. It landed without a sound, black lightning tendriled from it before they shifting into legs, 14 in total, lifting the cloud up. From the body of the cloud the infantile face emerged, the scribbles of its eyes looked bemused, the Cheshire grin spread from cheek to cheek. Long arms grew from the body until they dragged along behind the creature, still growing; they seemed to spill from the cloud like two very thick hairs. The boy could feel himself trembling, felt that lump appear in his throat again.
Shakily his hand found his sword, his fist closed weakly around the soft, worn leather, and he willed his sword to be drawn. His body obeyed, and slowly the blade came free from its scabbard. A dull scraping sound was all the fanfare it gave, and once fully drawn, the boy could not even bear to keep the tip of the blade facing his foe.
The beast loomed above the boy now, the billowy cloud of it’s torso stretched to make the thing even taller than it already was. It craned over the boy, so fragile he was, and it spoke to his mind again, “You would name me?” The boy nodded slowly, his eyes closed firmly, fighting the losing battle of keeping his emotions in check.
He forced himself to look at the beast in full, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I name thee,” he swallowed hard, that lump just wouldn’t go away,
“I name thee… Grief.”
A stiff wind picked up from behind the boy, blowing his hair into his face and nearly making him lose his balance. It blew into the beasts body, and expanded it, growing the creature larger than ever, a great tidal wave of shadow that towered before the boy. His instinct told him to run, flee the creature and the danger, but his legs wouldn't move. The strength returned to his arm, and the sword rose from the ground. He stood defiant against the all-encompassing void, he knew it was his only hope.
The shadow crashed down, pinning the boy to the ground until it dissipated, snaking along the ground as it coalesced into another wave. The boy scarcely had time to push himself up onto his elbows before the wave battered him again. He tasted dirt, blood. Again and again, the shadow formed a new wave before smashing its opponent; again and again the boy tried to stand. He noticed that each time he was struck, the wave seemed a bit lighter, the intervals taking longer each time. He took heart in watching the tendrils of darkness dissolve into the earth, skitter off into the distance, and finally, he was able to stand. His chest ached, his arms were sore, his legs protested movement, but he stood, and in front of him the shadow could amass no more than the size of a man.
"You brought me here thinking you could take advantage of my memories," he wiped dirt from his face, "You thought I would be weak here, caught up in remembering, stuck in the past!" He brought his sword to bear in front of him. Dangling arms shot from the shadow's back, pincers on them clacking angrily at the boy. He grinned, "You should've done your homework."
Charging down from the apex of the hill, the boy held the sword high. Memories of his family filled his brain, the happy times, the youthful indulgences, the love they all shared. Dull light gleamed off the blade, growing in strength as he went. The shadow launched an arm at him, the boy easily lopped it off. The beast sent another, and another, each falling like twigs to an axe.
He didn't realize he had been yelling the whole time, he didn't notice the fresh flowers leaving dew drops on his shins, he didn't notice the sun had broken the clouds until he had plunged the blade deep into the beasts chest. His momentum was so great, the two toppled backwards, until the blade pinned the beast to the ground, the boy tumbling to a stop a few feet behind.
The boy felt the greatest sense of pride in that moment. The beast had been slain, the sun warmed his face and eased the aches across his whole body. He rose slowly, brushing himself down as he went to investigate the creature. It lay there, writhing on the sword, the edges of it's form had taken solid root where the blade punctured it. It screeched and wailed, trying to take other heinous forms as it grasped the grass, the flowers, anything it could to try and get away from the searing light that pierced it.
The boy stood over it, satisfaction and justice had been dealt today in equal measure, and he enjoyed watching the shadow slowly dissolve as the last bit of life left its haphazard, scribble eyes. His smile faded as it continued to leave. Beneath one limp arm, the light broke through to a finger, then a hand, then an arm. The legs and torso came next as the sun continued to rise until finally the face.
No Cheshire-grin on this man, only a look of horror, regret, his face was contorted in pain, the tangled beard thick with dirt and grime, the hair on his head was long and matted with neglect. The sword pierced his chest at the breastbone, only the faintest hint of blood had stained the clothing, the rest had come out the back, the boy supposed. He knelt down next to the man, his eyes scanning to and fro on the man he had killed, taking in as much as he could. He leaned over and kissed his forehead gently, pulling the eyes shut, the eyes he had seen many times before in the mirror.
"I'll be better," he whispered, "for both of us." He let out the breath he'd been holding since before he went to sleep and fell into this confrontation. He looked up to the sun, breaking through the clouds, wiping away tears as they welled in his eyes. He took in one last breath of the dew scented field of flowers...
Reminder:
In One Hour - Funeral, 11a.
----------------------
The boy slowly faded from the field, the sun emerged the rest of the way, scattering the clouds and leaving the land gloomy no longer. The body on the ground twitched once, twice, then let out a rakish, wheezing cough. It pushed itself up from the ground, taking the sword with it, brushing dirt and debris from his clothing. He cleared his throat again, looking down at his chest and frowning. He grabbed the handle of the sword and pulled it free from his chest, tossing it over his shoulder like refuse. It dissolved into nothing before it hit the ground. The man stretched, "I always for get what having skin is like until I get stabbed, I swear..."
A line appeared in the air, growing in dimensions and substance until it became a hole in nothing. From it stepped a skeleton in a suit, wearing a top hat, "He finally get it?"
"Yeah, took him long enough, but he got the point," a smirk from the skeleton, "no pun intended."
"But a good one nonetheless. You did a fine job with that one, got creative with the scenery even. Don't see a Dreamscape like that every day."
A wispy form took the place of dead man, shimmering in the morning light. It resembled a human in shape, but that was all. "Lets head back, shall we? Plenty more work to be done."
"Always will be, friend." The wisp stepped into the hole, and it quickly collapsed into itself, becoming a line, and then nothing.
He wasn’t sure why, or how he managed, but for three days he stayed awake. Partly from sheer will to avoid the torment his nightly life had brought him, partly because his body simply wouldn’t allow it. He had been asleep so much lately, his body was pent up, needed to burn off some excess; unfortunately the most active thing he did was eat.
He sat in front of his TV, the same channel had been on repeat since 2 AM, and he stared past it. The infomercial wasn’t important, nothing was important, nothing mattered, not even the nothingness his life had become. Especially not that. His head lolled back and forth, the muscles of his neck giving up their dutiful quest to keep his head on straight. He was alone; it felt like he always had been, really, now was no different. It just felt like the world had finally kicked him out, finally set him down outside the ring that was society and turned a blind eye.
He was alone, and then suddenly he wasn’t. He missed the appearance, but he felt it as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, and that grim cold seeped out next to him. Slowly his head turned towards the presence, and he was met with that lurching, massive smile. His vapid face quickly became one of disgust, pushing himself away into the corner of his sofa. “The hell, why are you here?!”
“I’d ask the same of you,” the beast replied, it’s face rotating upside down, the massive grin now a frown, “You know what has to happen.”
He swallowed hard, “Y-you can’t make me!”
The grin spread out beyond the boundaries of its face, “No, but you can’t stay awake forever.”
He struck out at the creature, but with a puff it was gone, had never been there. The black ink that had been dripping off its body and staining his furniture was gone with it. He blinked a few times, hallucination or not, it was right, and he suddenly felt very exhausted; like dragging himself free from muddy bog that threatened to swallow him, he was very, very tired. He dreaded lying down in his bed, dreaded the inevitable spinning that would take him back down the hole, but he suffered through it.
He had to face the beast.
He landed on soft soil, graced by delicate plants that had long since died and lay rotting, becoming one with the soil. For once, he recognized where he was: the hilltop belonged to his childhood, the vegetation: a field of flowers he ran through during sunny spring mornings, bits of dew wetting his shins. He knew where he was, and his heart cried out in pain. It was too soon to see this, to remember those times, but even as his mind screamed it was all a dream, it held a softer voice now as well, one that reminded him that you cannot have happiness without it’s counter, nor could he continue to hide from the creature that stalked him.
Drying his eyes, he stood up slowly, swallowing hard he cried out, “Come forth, beast!” He had not chosen this place, but it had found him nonetheless, “Come forth, I would name thee!” The gray-blue clouds swirled above him like oil on water, the winds blowing them in all directions to and fro.
From within them, a blackness slowly took form, collecting into a thundercloud before it weighed so much it fell from the heavens. It landed without a sound, black lightning tendriled from it before they shifting into legs, 14 in total, lifting the cloud up. From the body of the cloud the infantile face emerged, the scribbles of its eyes looked bemused, the Cheshire grin spread from cheek to cheek. Long arms grew from the body until they dragged along behind the creature, still growing; they seemed to spill from the cloud like two very thick hairs. The boy could feel himself trembling, felt that lump appear in his throat again.
Shakily his hand found his sword, his fist closed weakly around the soft, worn leather, and he willed his sword to be drawn. His body obeyed, and slowly the blade came free from its scabbard. A dull scraping sound was all the fanfare it gave, and once fully drawn, the boy could not even bear to keep the tip of the blade facing his foe.
The beast loomed above the boy now, the billowy cloud of it’s torso stretched to make the thing even taller than it already was. It craned over the boy, so fragile he was, and it spoke to his mind again, “You would name me?” The boy nodded slowly, his eyes closed firmly, fighting the losing battle of keeping his emotions in check.
He forced himself to look at the beast in full, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I name thee,” he swallowed hard, that lump just wouldn’t go away,
“I name thee… Grief.”
A stiff wind picked up from behind the boy, blowing his hair into his face and nearly making him lose his balance. It blew into the beasts body, and expanded it, growing the creature larger than ever, a great tidal wave of shadow that towered before the boy. His instinct told him to run, flee the creature and the danger, but his legs wouldn't move. The strength returned to his arm, and the sword rose from the ground. He stood defiant against the all-encompassing void, he knew it was his only hope.
The shadow crashed down, pinning the boy to the ground until it dissipated, snaking along the ground as it coalesced into another wave. The boy scarcely had time to push himself up onto his elbows before the wave battered him again. He tasted dirt, blood. Again and again, the shadow formed a new wave before smashing its opponent; again and again the boy tried to stand. He noticed that each time he was struck, the wave seemed a bit lighter, the intervals taking longer each time. He took heart in watching the tendrils of darkness dissolve into the earth, skitter off into the distance, and finally, he was able to stand. His chest ached, his arms were sore, his legs protested movement, but he stood, and in front of him the shadow could amass no more than the size of a man.
"You brought me here thinking you could take advantage of my memories," he wiped dirt from his face, "You thought I would be weak here, caught up in remembering, stuck in the past!" He brought his sword to bear in front of him. Dangling arms shot from the shadow's back, pincers on them clacking angrily at the boy. He grinned, "You should've done your homework."
Charging down from the apex of the hill, the boy held the sword high. Memories of his family filled his brain, the happy times, the youthful indulgences, the love they all shared. Dull light gleamed off the blade, growing in strength as he went. The shadow launched an arm at him, the boy easily lopped it off. The beast sent another, and another, each falling like twigs to an axe.
He didn't realize he had been yelling the whole time, he didn't notice the fresh flowers leaving dew drops on his shins, he didn't notice the sun had broken the clouds until he had plunged the blade deep into the beasts chest. His momentum was so great, the two toppled backwards, until the blade pinned the beast to the ground, the boy tumbling to a stop a few feet behind.
The boy felt the greatest sense of pride in that moment. The beast had been slain, the sun warmed his face and eased the aches across his whole body. He rose slowly, brushing himself down as he went to investigate the creature. It lay there, writhing on the sword, the edges of it's form had taken solid root where the blade punctured it. It screeched and wailed, trying to take other heinous forms as it grasped the grass, the flowers, anything it could to try and get away from the searing light that pierced it.
The boy stood over it, satisfaction and justice had been dealt today in equal measure, and he enjoyed watching the shadow slowly dissolve as the last bit of life left its haphazard, scribble eyes. His smile faded as it continued to leave. Beneath one limp arm, the light broke through to a finger, then a hand, then an arm. The legs and torso came next as the sun continued to rise until finally the face.
No Cheshire-grin on this man, only a look of horror, regret, his face was contorted in pain, the tangled beard thick with dirt and grime, the hair on his head was long and matted with neglect. The sword pierced his chest at the breastbone, only the faintest hint of blood had stained the clothing, the rest had come out the back, the boy supposed. He knelt down next to the man, his eyes scanning to and fro on the man he had killed, taking in as much as he could. He leaned over and kissed his forehead gently, pulling the eyes shut, the eyes he had seen many times before in the mirror.
"I'll be better," he whispered, "for both of us." He let out the breath he'd been holding since before he went to sleep and fell into this confrontation. He looked up to the sun, breaking through the clouds, wiping away tears as they welled in his eyes. He took in one last breath of the dew scented field of flowers...
... and opened his eyes, he was back in bed. His alarm was going off, but he didn’t notice it, didn’t even register his own automatic movements to turn it off. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, noticing that his face was wet again; he was less surprised this time. He washed himself, ate some breakfast, and went to get himself dressed. The suit he wore made him look too formal, he decided. He barely recognized himself in the mirror; the boy looked like a man. His phone buzzed at him, a calendar reminder. Looking at it, took a deep, shuddering breath. He straightened his tie, tried to pat down a persistent bit of hair, and sighed. He’d faced this a few moments ago, he could face it again, heavy as it made his heart.
Reminder:
In One Hour - Funeral, 11a.
The boy slowly faded from the field, the sun emerged the rest of the way, scattering the clouds and leaving the land gloomy no longer. The body on the ground twitched once, twice, then let out a rakish, wheezing cough. It pushed itself up from the ground, taking the sword with it, brushing dirt and debris from his clothing. He cleared his throat again, looking down at his chest and frowning. He grabbed the handle of the sword and pulled it free from his chest, tossing it over his shoulder like refuse. It dissolved into nothing before it hit the ground. The man stretched, "I always for get what having skin is like until I get stabbed, I swear..."
A line appeared in the air, growing in dimensions and substance until it became a hole in nothing. From it stepped a skeleton in a suit, wearing a top hat, "He finally get it?"
"Yeah, took him long enough, but he got the point," a smirk from the skeleton, "no pun intended."
"But a good one nonetheless. You did a fine job with that one, got creative with the scenery even. Don't see a Dreamscape like that every day."
A wispy form took the place of dead man, shimmering in the morning light. It resembled a human in shape, but that was all. "Lets head back, shall we? Plenty more work to be done."
"Always will be, friend." The wisp stepped into the hole, and it quickly collapsed into itself, becoming a line, and then nothing.
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