In an alley, On the edge of a cliff, no, in a cemetery, no .. focus. It's just fear.
It's night, of that you're sure. People are fading in and out of form, you manage to talk to some of them before they transpare but you don't remember what about, familiar looking faces have a longer halflife.
To remember you have to write a story
And another
Memory is a story writer, archiver and retriever
This is a lucid dream, you want to see the stars, when is the sun?
It's just under the horizon, look, there
You point towards it with your hand stretched in a nazi salute, trying to bring it about like Yoda did Luke's X-wing out of the swamp.
Not like that lol, grib it between your thumb and index finger and drag
Dusk's indescribable color-showoff timelapses backwards gloriously as the stars bounce, yielding to sol's supremacy. But 'hold your horses stars, I see you moon.'
You grab the moon in the same manner and drag it on top, sunlight fading. You take a star and put it on top of another to make it bigger.
Marvelous playground isn't it?
'Sure is, but something's not right, that reddish star on the edge of that V formation is Aldebaran. There's Betelgeuse so opposite of it should be something called the Pleiades ... right ... here. Like this, see?'
It is true, you are the enlightened one, the messiah of the second renaissance
The flicker of his form ceases and he bows down, bending a knee before you. One by one vague blurs gain concrete form ushering in an exponentially widening field of bowing shadows all around you in perfect formation. But suddenly you feel pain so instant it must be electricity, chaperoning the sun's gradual reemergence;
ccHHHHHerecy! hhthtThe sSecond Messiah iis one of usS. hhthtThere Is nNo Place, nNot Even For hHhalflings Of Your Kind Among US, hhthtThis Travesty Ends Now
, raiding your mind, raising, dilating every nightmare you've ever had and adding new ones. In-between the horrors there's always the leitmotif of physical pain and hunger that makes you gasp for a solution of making it stop, mustering every instinct in your reptilian brain's repertoire but it keeps on frying your circuits and the desperation drives you insane. You're just about to call yourself quits when your marks slowly gain orange luminescence like heated metal, absorbing some of the shake-inducing shock intensity and alleviating your fear, a brief respite for you to regain lucidity, and fly, by dragging the landscape downward, away.
It doesn't alleviate the pain, on the contrary.. but you want this, you want to fly faster and the more you suffer the faster you become. Your marks have grown the size of a fist and you gain the dystopic insight that once they've covered your entire body you will be stuck here forever but you keep gunning for that increase in speed until the air overloads with light and burst into unfamiliar rulelessness. A place so empty yet connected to everything there ever existed through exactly the right shortcuts to make sense of it all. You can introduce this to the world and vice versa, a place superlatively full of potential, you intuitively realize nobody has been to for a long time, because consequently the world would have been a much better place by now. You say your goodbye, vouching to return with benevolent explorers, as you patiently watch the walls of your perception of the dreamworld melt, and disband the electrifying pain that has weakened to a mere headache ever since you lightboomed. Suddenly, second wind, a wave of excitement surges your body towards a familiar-looking, distant formation.
'At this rate I'll never reach it before I die or wake. Faster, Faster!'
You muster every pain, anxiety and angst you've ever felt, as building blocks to construct higher, more complex, synergized forms of horrors from, and let them loose to haunt you until you see the contour of your body lucifer in luscious indigo. Eureka! This is it. But just as you would've jizzed your pants, if your togs wouldn't have disintegrated 2,5 mi.ly. ago, your momentum abates as something is interdicting you from traversing the last couple of k.ly, left to stare at baffling beauty like a kid seeing a videogame for the first time through the vitrine of an arcade.
Don't let him in
,
Stfu, look at that delicious aura
,
Godfuck your hamophobia
,
he's the real deal
,
Fuck it, Show me how bat you want this and I'll make you, ace
Hate starts boiling and you realize what the shadowmarks, that have all but enveloped you completely are for. You unleash all of the hate stored within them and set the wall ablaze. You focus it like a blowtorch and gradually cut through while pressing full-acceleration-power against it. BAM! Wonderfully climactic penetration. You put up a good fight against the guards but the electricity is back and it takes you apart. You shed a tear, and let it happen.
With faded memories of a painful, persistent cramp in your neck, all but gluing your ear to your shoulder, having made everyone around you uncomfortable with clumsy elucubrations as to how this is a mild problem you can deal with, suggesting they should just enjoy the lecture, alerting the whites, having enjoyed the trip and the sedatives, having been carried to the bathroom and washed while overhearing the obscene shouts and cries of a person strapped to his, in the adjacent room, you wake up in one of your room's 13 beds with a limp tongue.
Welcome to the psych ward. You've always wanted to see the inside of one of these haven't you?