Desperate is he that lives in a dream but cannot wake.
Terrified is he who wanders a synaptic wasteland of surreal shadows and landscapes of lunacy. I am he - the delirious, the defeated; the wonderstruck, the weary.
Yet still, I cling to the hope that I will find a way to cross the barrier into the waking world.
I cannot recall how long I have been in this place. To me, time is as indistinct and unclear as the fantastic world around me.
I know this is a dream.
The distorted sky is fringed in blackness, and everything around me ripples in constant motion.
The trees are burnt out, desolate husks and the ground is bare and cracked.
Mighty winds assault me mercilessly, howling in a cacophony of bestial bloodlust.
They mock and muffle my feeble cries for help, and lay waste to my ever slipping sanity. There are no people or animals present, in fact, no life of any kind save me.
It is cold here, cold as the grave, the kind of cold that freezes your soul,
and lonely, so lonely; the loneliness of all things forgotten.
My situation is so dreadful that I briefly entertained the notion that this was some sort of hallucinogenic experience, perhaps drug-induced.
Memories that invade my thoughts from the other side however, have nullified this theory.
Indeed, I was something of an introvert in the waking world.
A bookish man, possessed of a methodically precise, ordered nature, utterly precluding the wild, reckless use of mind-altering drugs. Always I see myself in a study of some kind; shelves lined with ancient, worm-eaten books, a battered, oaken desk with quill pen and paper, and beside the books, a huge full- length oval mirror encased in bronze.
.....
The dreamscape around me now is changing with alarming rapidity.
On the peripherals of my vision I can see the blackness, once immobile, now moving, growing. It seems sentient somehow, menacingly so.
The writhing, undulating mass grows with every passing breath, devouring everything, darkening to an impenetrable black, deeper than the voids of interstellar space.”Get me out this madness!” I scream, for this is madness, but there is no one to hear my screams; soon there will be no more me.
Nothing matters now, I have gone insane. Fear has left me, and with the strength born of madness I scan my surroundings for an escape route.
The living blackness is everywhere now, it will reach me in seconds.
A gleam of light appears a short distance ahead.”What now?” I say, and, laughing to myself, stroll over to investigate the apparition in front of me.
It is there, spectrally hazy, but unmistakable; the mirror from my study in the waking world!
The madness in me evaporates as the prospect of actual escape presents itself.
My leisurely stroll turns into a frantic run.
As if sensing my approach, the mirror starts drifting away from me.
I must go through it to save myself, for I believe that this is the gateway out of the land of dreams.
My strength is almost gone. The mirror is drifting faster and I cannot close the distance. Almost total blackness nips at my heels like a hound of hell. I gather up every last vestige of dying strength I have left and with one last titanic effort I close the gap and launch myself headfirst at the glass.
Pray God I will succeed...
בכל הבלוגים
שם בלוג/בלוגר
