Fantasy Dreamscape

[benectroon]

I recognize that voice, I'm sure of it. Though my mind isn't able to put a face on it.
Hey, what's going on? I ask the entity.
If I can control my dreams, it might be about time I end this here.

This darkness has me freaked out.
That entity better have some explanation for why he brought me back here.

I look around the room.
Though I guess it isn't that bad, the floor is still here.

 

[MoonMoonTheWolf]

You seem lost.

Perhaps you should backtrack a little.

Was there something you skipped? Something you didn't notice?

Think, Elliott.

Something's missing.

 

[benectroon]

Are you still here?
The entity hasn't said a word after dragging me back here.

It's pitch black.
Wait a sec, right before this I was able to 'dream up' the key for that door. It worked!
I need some light here, a flashlight maybe?
I try to calm my breathing and close my eyes.
My mind drifts away, trying to imagine a flashlight.

And then they were never heard of again.
Dad puts his arms in the air for dramatic effect, though he drops the flashlight, so it doesn't really work.
I laugh anyway.
Ooh, real scary pop. I hope I can still sleep after that.
He looks back at me with that stupid dad grin I love so much.
Telling bad horror stories at night while out camping in the woods, just like in all these family comedy movies.
It does annoy me a little, I'd rather be just at home.
But we could use some father-daughter time, I suppose.
Also I was to tired to act annoyed after that day long hike.
Some little chatter, a good-night-kiss and I flick off the flashlight.
There I stood, only 14 years old then. In full darkness, with the flashlight in my hand.

 

[MoonMoonTheWolf]

You may have very well missed your opportunity to escape. The beacon is way deep into the void, thus it is unlikely that you will be able to catch up with the entity that accompanied you.

To try and speak with the one that has been trying to capture and devour you does not seem wise, though it rather lie in wait as you give in to frustration.

You manage to create a flashlight.

However, surrounded by a thick veil of dark void, one can only wonder how helpful the flashlight will be.

Remember, the room has been corrupted and devoured by the "spirals".

Is there really not something you should be doing other than thinking right now?

 

[benectroon]

The presence of the entity becomes ever so strong.
I can only imagine it prowling through the void, waiting to strike.
The light is so far away. My eyes dilate as the instinct to flee wraps around my heart.

Attempting to keep my path lit, I hold my flashlight steadily in front of me, pointed at the distant dot which has suddenly become my beacon of hope.
My legs sprinting one in front of the other. I don't dare look behind me.
I've been stuck in her without knowing what in the world is going on.
And the thing holding that light seems to be the only being that can keep me safe here.

 

[MoonMoonTheWolf]

You awaken to the emergency of your departure, but the being that has hunted you ever since you stepped into the room of the mad man has no reasons to give you up.

All you can do is cling to hope, but even the notion that hope dies last becomes a challenge to your will. You feel your legs weigh on you, and the world seems to twist as your mind is once more shrouded in memories not yours. You are back in the mad man's room, but this time there is not a candle, nor is there a darkness to bar your gaze.

If only you could remain in the darkness, even if just to flee from such a sight.

The scene imprinted in your brain runs fluidly, without any interruption. Your will is firmly nailed to the ground, you are helpless. But you are helpless in the fashion that you cannot close your eyes, you cannot un-see what is revealed in a morbid style.

You remember the wife, do you not? You remember the three children. The man was one of family, of morals. Yet, you can only see the state in which he was abandoned after dealing with the dark entity. It is but a mirror of the first time you saw him, only much more savage, with a paleness you cannot comprehend under the rough and wild beard that grows on his face.

He sits in front of the table, vicious in his art. The room is alive, full of color brought in by the afternoon sun. You can see a family painting on the wall to your left, some flowers by the window to your right and on the opposite side of where you stand lies the front door. The man is facing you, his back is turned to the door. The front door is pushed open and his wife enters the family's humble house.

"Where is it...?" The man's head turns a slight to the right. He keeps a weirdly quiet tone of voice and a calm demeanor.

"Did you lose something, dear?" She smiles, an innocent caught in the intrigues of the occult. A being unable to understand how treacherous and fatal her lover could be. She discovers as soon as he turns in a violent manner and captures her body with fingers as sharp as talons. "W-What are you doing?!"

The man wrestles his wife to the ground. There is no comparison to each individual's strength. He is stronger, and he is not hesitant in hurling his fist straight at his lover's gut. "Do you think you will make a fool out of me?!" The cool which transpired from his being is shattered into millions of pieces, all broken further as they fall on the ground. "It is not here! NOT! HERE! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT?!"

Her screams are muffled by strike after strike of the deranged man. He has beaten the person he once loved most to an irrecognizable state. Blood masks the once beautiful face of the woman who bore three lovely children for him. Her flesh is the acumen of pain and sorrow. Her cheeks are purple, her lips open. One of her eyes is unable to open. Some of her hair has been removed by the intensity with which her husband pulls at her scalp... and the room slowly changes, positions slowly shift in the vision of the past you are shown.

The woman is on her knees, pleading. She pleads for him to wake up, to see what wrongs and pains he has inflicted on her. To no avail. The man is bitter and lost in his mind, too focused in his cursed devotion to a cursed entity through the medium, quite cursed, of a scroll. This scroll disappeared, and the man turned to despair. In his fit of madness, he blamed his wife.

"I see." The man shakes his head. "It is too late for you. It was too late for them."

Three ropes, all tied to the ceiling. When your gaze follows through, you see.

Three ropes, three children.

The brutality with which the man condemned his wife keeps her from screaming, keeps her face from having any true expression other than that of pain. She is left heartbroken, a dreaded end to the happiness that was once her life, now turned to a quick chapter of death.

Before you witness the end, your mind is warped back into the darkness of the void.

You were running before the vision hit you, before the dark entity began to crawl up your essence, your core.

You can make it. One last stretch, before the breathing you feel so foul on the back of your neck becomes the last thing you sense.

 

[Hercynia]

I blink.

Bright sunlight filters in through the miniscule gaps in the blinds, wary tongues of fire stretching their way towards my seat. A moment of quiet, and all I want to do is sink back down into the haze somewhere between awareness and unconsciousness.

But it is not to be.

Work beckons, and I slowly stand, chair pushed back, mouth opening in a brief yawn as I stretch my arms. My muscles ache, a testament to the softness - or rather, lack of it - of the table's unforgiving surface.

Minutes pass, and I'm sitting once more - only this time by my computer, staring out the window at the descending slope of trees as it's fans whirr into life. It's almost magical, and if not for the ominous clouds that promise rain I'd almost certainly wander for the next few hours. As it was, perhaps the better choice would be to stay comfortable inside and attend to what needs to be done.

I glance outside - the sunlight that woke me has all but deserted me once more, streaks of red and yellow lining a patched sky. I reach for my camera, before deciding better of it - the thin drizzle accompanying the sunset,while poetic, is not particularly photogenic.

I turn off the computer, hearing the whine of it's fans slow and stop, stretching once more - I seem to be doing more and more of that, these days - and make my way back into the kitchen. A salad stands half-eaten on the counter, and I stare at it momentarily, blankly. A thought wanders across my mind - Did I make it? Did I eat it? I consider, and decide that yes; I did. I pick it up, and, opening the relevant drawer, remove the cutlery I need to eat it. The drawer slams closed as I turn away, echoing through the house, before it returns to silence. I wish I had changed my mind earlier - I wish I had walked, instead of worked. They are such similar words; a pity they cannot be the same thing. Still, I remind myself; plenty hate their jobs and I am lucky to love mine. I stand up, fill a glass, and raise it to the now dark blue, clouded night sky.