009 broadcast mind-dream
For a moment there is nothing but floating. There is little but that flutterly, light sensation. Then you are grounded; you are running, running over grass, into the forest. Everything is moving so quickly, so smoothly. There is barely an effort, no stitch in your side. There is a simple joy, a freedom that comes from running without effort, no need to answer to anything-to question anyone. You just know this is what you want to feel, what the feeling that should be held dear. You could run forever.
Then it changes. You can feel the sickness in your throat. When you stop, in a world full of grey, you can taste the blood when you bite your tongue. There's a pressing of power that hurts the chest, that makes it so hard to breathe.
For a moment, there is nothing but blond hair in front of your face. Impaitent, they're pushed away. At first, all you see are the fingerless gloves on your hand, the leather and cloth bands on your bicep and forearm.
The fingernails are too long though. Veins and tendons are standing out too much. A hiss of breath, and you try to control your body, let it become normal again.
It doesn't help. No matter what you do, it becomes worse. A cry escapes your throat; it sounds more bestial then human. It won't stop, why won't it stop?
It
Can't
BE!
Teeth feel too sharp; crying almost too hard to see those hands be more then small human things. A fluttering in the stomach, a tensness of a held breath-
And even as you cry out in denial, in the mist of painful pleasure, you become more. Everything you could not be. Everything you should be. The very air flattens, the ground cracks at the release.
You have awakened. And you cannot be who you were. Never again.
Then it changes. You can feel the sickness in your throat. When you stop, in a world full of grey, you can taste the blood when you bite your tongue. There's a pressing of power that hurts the chest, that makes it so hard to breathe.
For a moment, there is nothing but blond hair in front of your face. Impaitent, they're pushed away. At first, all you see are the fingerless gloves on your hand, the leather and cloth bands on your bicep and forearm.
The fingernails are too long though. Veins and tendons are standing out too much. A hiss of breath, and you try to control your body, let it become normal again.
It doesn't help. No matter what you do, it becomes worse. A cry escapes your throat; it sounds more bestial then human. It won't stop, why won't it stop?
It
Can't
BE!
Teeth feel too sharp; crying almost too hard to see those hands be more then small human things. A fluttering in the stomach, a tensness of a held breath-
And even as you cry out in denial, in the mist of painful pleasure, you become more. Everything you could not be. Everything you should be. The very air flattens, the ground cracks at the release.
You have awakened. And you cannot be who you were. Never again.