Black Dreams

Did I dream my last dream?

I am taken to the land I call home, where I fly and I die, but a place with faces that I know. I am content here. I am calm. I see crisp blue skies and great cityscapes far in the distance. I look up further into the clean air and I see planets far, far away.

But I can't fly here. I am frozen.

The lands which we crave are but straitjackets. A grass so green it blinds. We see no beauty here, nor do we hear of any, except maybe among the dead. We look for something else and in a silver mirror all we see is what we want to see.

Now I am flying but it's a different land. The sky fades from the familiar blue to a hellish grey. I see smoke and the sky is hard as stone. The faces have no identity, blank and frightening. Night screams and death surround me, destruction and relentless torture awaits me.

I am followed, I am chased, I am caught.

I can't escape them.

I sense a great feeling of determination coursing through my veins, but I don't know why. I look down at my arms and the veins are black.

I am cold.

I am dead.

I am back in my kingdom now. Birds sing and the sunshine kisses my skin and warms my bones. I ache for this land I can not fly in. But I am comfortable now, long removed from the places in the black dreams that haunt my every move.

Until the next time.



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