Dream Journal - Lucidity Corrupted
February 5, 2010
He was strung up against a wall blacker than pitch, arms bound and useless, hunched like he carried Atlas's own burden. Thick diamantine ribbons dribbled down from the nebulous ceiling, curling about his ribs, caressing his lips, tangling in his glassy-pale hair. Diamonds spilled like baubles from his tongue. As I approached, his glacial eyes remained downcast, fixed on the slick star-flecked floor, although his skin flinched away from mine as I took his face in my hands. His eyes flew shut, as though this small contact caused him deep agony. Gazing through his clear eyelids and irises, I saw that something dark had taken root suffocatingly deep within him. I released him-he, trembling-and despaired.
After a time, I realized he had begun to choke on the coagulating sepulchral mass within himself. Waveringly, I braced a hand on his shoulder and slipped my fingers through his flimsy liquid-glass chest, ignoring the Siren-screeching in his throat, and wove them around a heart fabricated of meshed gossamer. I gathered these heart-strings together, a clump of silver and crystal twine, and tore them from the back wall of his thoracic cavity, extracting them with deliberation. As they were embraced by the open air their crystalline color bled away into crimson then to dull black, and trails of moistness snaked down my arm like dripping weeds. His eyes burned sanguine. Snarling, he shook violently, crystal-turned-dingy blood raining madly; but I persisted.
His color waned further and further until the wraithlike twine had been bled out of him completely, and he at last became the essence of un-color once more. Weary, I made as though to touch his cheek, but faded into waking.
He was strung up against a wall blacker than pitch, arms bound and useless, hunched like he carried Atlas's own burden. Thick diamantine ribbons dribbled down from the nebulous ceiling, curling about his ribs, caressing his lips, tangling in his glassy-pale hair. Diamonds spilled like baubles from his tongue. As I approached, his glacial eyes remained downcast, fixed on the slick star-flecked floor, although his skin flinched away from mine as I took his face in my hands. His eyes flew shut, as though this small contact caused him deep agony. Gazing through his clear eyelids and irises, I saw that something dark had taken root suffocatingly deep within him. I released him-he, trembling-and despaired.
After a time, I realized he had begun to choke on the coagulating sepulchral mass within himself. Waveringly, I braced a hand on his shoulder and slipped my fingers through his flimsy liquid-glass chest, ignoring the Siren-screeching in his throat, and wove them around a heart fabricated of meshed gossamer. I gathered these heart-strings together, a clump of silver and crystal twine, and tore them from the back wall of his thoracic cavity, extracting them with deliberation. As they were embraced by the open air their crystalline color bled away into crimson then to dull black, and trails of moistness snaked down my arm like dripping weeds. His eyes burned sanguine. Snarling, he shook violently, crystal-turned-dingy blood raining madly; but I persisted.
His color waned further and further until the wraithlike twine had been bled out of him completely, and he at last became the essence of un-color once more. Weary, I made as though to touch his cheek, but faded into waking.