is my beginning is my end

The front door opens, slowly, and a cold draft gusts through the room.
...I will be watching then as I watch now.Beyond the door is a gaunt young man in faded black, his back to the room, barely silhouetted against a slowly whirling vortex of darkness. He staggers back away from it, apparently involuntarily, into the ( Read more... )

When a door last opened between the house and Milliways, two months ago, eleven people came stumbling through.

And two were left behind.

Don't cry. There's always a way.

[Not quite out of Milliways:

Upstairs, Johnny Truant discovers something unusual.]

More hot showers. More clean sheets. It's too much for a poor sinner like me to ask.

If it weren't for the dreams, sun-soaked, with shadows creeping in on the corners, I'd almost feel safe.

But dreams mean that I've been sleeping, and for sleep, I am grateful. I actually took a walk outside, feeling the clean, lean air blow through me, the air ( Read more... )

I woke up with the highly disconcerting sensation of not knowing where the fuck I was, in a comfortable bed, with clean sheets, a clean face, a clean body. And clean and I have had some parting of the ways for quite some time.  I thought that maybe I had died somewhere in the capillaries of America, wandering all those unnamed roads for so long, ( Read more... )

No matter how long you would like to brood, eventually you must face people again. At least this is what any number of dreams have been informing the Lord of the Dreaming. Eventually you must face people again.

This does not mean he's smiling about it, this is Dream. However, he is manifest, and he's no less able to be approached than he ever

Shadow is in the bar, with a mug of cocoa. It's that sort of night.

He's not doing too much, really.

There's a seat across from him. He'd probably appreciate some company.

Jack comes in from the front door, looking tired after a long day of work outside.  He's been a little...off, the last few days.  That meeting, dream...whatever that had been with Tony on Halloween night had rattled him, unsure what to think about it.  Whether he should even believe it actually happened, even though it had felt so real.  A talk ( Read more... )

It's been, what, seven years since that day in Flagstaff? Can't remember. Been thinking about that lately, since I buried my dog. Poor Edmund. I don't know whether it was the cold in Colorado or just old age that finally brought down his great old thrumming heart. Maybe I should have known when he barked at me, all dusty and sad, when we split ways ( Read more... )