Post by Whales on Jun 9, 2004 22:33:28 GMT -5
It’s cold. So cold. There isn’t a wind. There isn’t anything. Only cold. I call out, only to be echoed a second later. I hug my arms around me, and try to pierce the white light surrounding me. I don’t know where to start. It’s too empty. Too cold. The cold. It stings my skin. It chaps my lips instantly. My eyes water as I attempt to keep them open against the barrage of cold. I look at my feet. Chewing gum. That isn’t right. There is chewing gum on the floor. I look up. A city. The cold is gone, faded into a haze of movement and businesslike gloom. I step to the left. A woman with a bag brushes against me. No, not brushes. Hits against me. I can almost feel the malice. I step back to the centre. The tide of people parts on me. The only rock before the waterfall. I step to the right. A woman with a bag. Faceless. Anonymous. I step back to the centre. I look up. Blue skies. Empty, unobscured skies. I look back. The bustle is gone. The people are gone. A sheep glances ponderously at me. I smile. It smiles. That can’t be good, I think. That can’t be good, it says. I step back. And I’m swimming. Surrounded by peaceful blue. I could stay here forever. But I can’t. My lungs are bursting. I kick for the surface. I break the surface. I look around. I’m in an elevator. I can hear the gentle, inauspicious music. A woman with a bag. And another. And another. All standing silently in a box. I jab at the open doors button, panicked, scared. I step into the blackness. The women with bags carefully avoid looking at me as I fall away. I open my eyes. A chandelier. Breaking the light into millions of tiny rainbows. I turn my head to the right and see swirling dresses, light feet. I turn my head to the left and see swirling dresses, light feet. I sit up. All around me, people twist and curve. A maelstrom of colours and textures. A soft murmur of disdain runs through the room. I stand. People stare. The music stops. I pull open the French windows. Out onto the balcony. The music. It’s started again. I can’t stay. I know I can’t. I jump from the balustrade. The waltz and jig fades behind me. This time, I land on my feet. A good omen. I slowly open my eyes, afraid of what I might see. A mountain. A scarred, burnt-out tree stands. It scratches at the thin mist, carving its own way. I hear children playing. I turn, a smile playing on my lips. The children smile back. The children throw things. Hard things. Stones. I run, shielding my head from the rain of child-powered projectiles. I stop. I’m not being hit anymore. This time, it’s a church. The chill reverence of the stone. The grave men come from cities, strolling through the church. Thinking they know. They don’t know. I walk to the door, holding back the urge to run. I pull it open, raising a cloud of dust. I cough, uncontrollably. When the dust clears, and I’ve stopped coughing, I see everything. It is laid out for me. Like a map. The entire world, the entire universe. Stars glow with good. A shimmering, greasy sheen of bad coats everything else. Children smoke. Adults cheat. Stars are pure. Stars are white innocence. Stars implode, one at a time. One for every bad deed. The sheen gets thicker with each passing day. The sky glows less with each passing night. Soon, the world will suffocate from the bad sheen. Soon, the nights will be black. Dead black.