02.09.07
Dreamscape
Frothy clouds of lavender scuttle through my dreamscape fields of shattered marble statues. Goliath torsos and scattered limbs, bone-white on the bloody turf, reaching in supplication to the foaming sky.
I saw you run here. I know that you are somewhere hidden in the forest of stone memories. They all want something from you and you have nothing left to give. Hiding in plain view I see you creep around, past eyes that cannot see and ears that cannot hear. I watch you tiptoe under noses chiseled from blank faces and left to erode on the ground next to forgotten signposts pointing the direction to redemption.
I call out, curious why you are hiding in the midst of such chaos, and know immediately I have done something wrong by the way your face contorts in fear. Slowly, giants rumble to life, grasping scattered limbs and reattaching them to bodies sculpted in the latest fashion. I see you blazing toward me - waving your arms and shouting “Run!”
Yet, my feet stand rooted to the red-soaked grass, bewildered by your apparent terror. One massive creature, all planes of perfection, not born but created, gains his feet and each step he takes in pursuit of you the ground rumbles with ominous portent. His gaping mouth opens and out into my dreamscape pours a terrible moan, long and full of urgency-warning-doom. My bones hum against the frequency as your fist closes tight about my wrist and your momentum spins my still stunned body in your direction. Feet moving of their own volition I stagger-run behind you, half dragged and shaking. The ground crashes rhythmically as the monster’s footsteps bounce us repeatedly off our own feet. I get tired but you don’t let me rest. I get fearful but you don’t let me look back.
A chasm looms in the distance, and I know you are racing us to death. Then through a shift of light I see that you are not Nicolas at all. Who are you? I came for Nicolas.
Caught between marble memories, angry and abused – and the pending drop of untold distance I startle myself awake.
Nicolas, where are you? What have you done?
I stare at the black ceiling, heart racing - blood slick and hot, pulsing violently in my limbs. My body lathered and shivering. Even as I try to dose myself with logic – even as I pant and delve into my greatest stash of wholesome reason – I cannot stop the sense that it was real.
Nicolas. Where are you Nicolas?
