Dreamscapes part 1

Reality slipped and slid around me like honey in washing machine. The ship of my mind was thrown back and forth in the turbid sea of my imagination. The subconscious rose to a fell crescendo at the height of the storm. A gathering darkness signalled the end, a blanket of blackness to envelop all. To blind and bind me to my fate. I fought and struggled battling with all my resolve, a silent scream spewed from my lips like last nights curries burning my mouth and I continued my hopeless struggle. My conscious rebelled at its torment seeking an end to the madness that enveloped it. It grew and grew, I could no longer comprehend the scale of what rocked my mind it fell in on its self. A star going super nova, a black endless nothing

Thunderous claps and rolling booms heralded my awakening. I had no sense only mental torment. I could only view the world through a haze. A voice screaming out in raised agony that sounded familiar. My limbs felt like they had been cast into two spinning tops. A small logical contingent of my mind rose up like a demented scientist. This is what it must be like to have a fit, it remarked dryly and vanished. I rolled and span, comprehension of the world was reduced to blurred glimpses of colour. Nothing made sense, nothing seemed real. A booming laughter filled every pore of my being. The black blanket returned, swaddling me like a mother.

This time I was sure that I was awake. How many times I had cast my self around this outcrop I do not know. My body felt like it had been for an age. Every joint hurt, ever bone ached, my mussels were spent I could barely stand. I sat propped against a rocky out crop staring across the marshy wasteland in front of me. My sole companion on the rocky panicle stood by my side. An unmoving sentinel. His torn and tattered robes flapped round him, the only sound the reached my ears. They look as if time and the elements had worn them down to the its gray colour, no dye would give such a tone, the shifting morass seemed to have a life of its own never settling in one place always moving hiding the being inside from my site. I could not fathom who this silent spectre was. The little words that he had greeted me with when I had supposedly gain consciousness had been a coarse almost whispers like speech that grated at the corners of my mind. He had only uttered to me in his hushed voice that I was to sit and wait, and wait I did for what felt like an eternity I sat and stared into the wasteland, or as far as I could tell.

A mist wreathed nearly everything in sight. It clung to every surface in sight threatening at times to consume even our solitary watchtower. At other times when some sort of force moved it I could gat a better view of what surrounded me. What is was though was not impressive. Dull moorland spread out as far as the mist would allow. Ferns pricked at some areas, rushes at others. The whole area gave of a haze of misery of an unknown unhappiness that had no source no root, no reason to exist. The small bogs were pools of darkness, blotting the landscape like a plague.

My grim viewing of the insipid surroundings were interrupted by my wraithlike companion. He had broken the timeless silence that had coiled around us with his harsh whispers.
‘It is time to go Ichabod’ The spirit scratched. I sighted as I dragged my self to a standing position straitening my waistcoat.
‘Go where exactly, we are on a rocky outcrop in a dark and dreary moor with no viable means of transport or even destination save traipsing around a moor, which I rather had my fill of a school.’ I remarked, fumbling in my pockets for a cigar.

‘We have a destination and a means, Ichabod’ He rasped, waving an arm across the horizon. I looked up at this remark. The mists had cleared. The moor stretched on for miles, as far as the eye could see. An endless mass of browns and sullied greens. Slowly my eye was drawn to another outcrop. Larger than the one that I stood upon but linked by a stone causeway above the fen. It was covered in a group of grimy buildings, that from this distance covered every surface with their sullied mass. A tower rose above the mass like a single decrepit digit. Stretching and straining towards the overcast sky. ‘Stop delaying and follow me’ Continued the wraith, striding off towards the edge of the outcrop and descended down the steps that arrived as if by magic. .

Bloody wraiths, I thought darkly as I followed the gray forms descent , always have to make a point with some bloody theatricals.

Dancing in the sun

The sun’s rays shone down on the veranda bathing every inch in its warmth, there was no shadow only light. The grass of the garden was caught up in the brilliance of the sun, the mornings dew gave the effect of millions of diamonds shinning back at me. The light added an extra sense of clarity to everything around me. The spiders web on the cross beams seemed now an intricate pattern that had taken years to create and existed only for my passing pleasure. I sat back in my arm chair feeling its padding mould to my familiar shape. In the light of the sun everything was golden.

I watched her dancing on the grass, the dewy diamonds shimmering and shaking with her every graceful foot steps, she danced a dance of joy each step accompanied by a grin or a laugh as she span, twirled and jumped across the lawn. Her plain white dress flowed around her like smoke never quite following her but giving an impression of where she had been. Her golden hair trailed behind her and in the light it looked like gold. Her bare feet we wet and covered in grass but all of this was trivial to her. She was happy to dance in the wet grass, happy just being in the sun.

I watched as she cavorted around. Making sure that I was looking when she did a graceful leap or spin. I smiled back, watching her child like joy with glimmering eyes as I watched her enjoy one of life’s simplest pleasures.

‘You do know she is an idiot?’ The raven croaked in its strangely matriarchal voice. It ruffled its feathers and looked down at me from its perch on the back of my chair.

I’m aware of the fact that she is not as mentally capable as you or I Beatrice, however she makes up for it in other areas. For example when was the last time you danced? or took simple pleasure in the sun?’ I retorted.

The Beatrice looked down at me with a glare only birds can give and clacked her beak before replying.

‘It is all well and good dancing in the wet grass and lounging in the sun like some sort of vagabond Ichabod but these matters are trivial to the matters of the mind. I can think of things that she has no comprehension of, things that if she had a glimmering of understanding of would cause her happy world to fall apart. We both have knowledge of things whose beauty far supposes trivial day in the sun. How can you argue that she!’ and at that she gestured with a wing ‘ can know more than us, we fine academics! We the children of Archimedes, who have supped at that delight full cup of knowledge, marvelled at the creation of the universe and have found the answer to many of life’s great problems. Ichabod we have knowledge that others can only dream of.’ She finished her speech with an indigent ruffling of her feathers, as if she was offended by the idea that Ralla’s simple physical pleasure was a nothing a mere speck compared to pure knowledge.

I leaned forward, elbows on knees, pondering her speech. The bird had a point; I had, at my disposal, knowledge that would shake the core of any normal man let alone Ralla’s simple view on the world. She viewed each day a child ever curious ever wondering. I would find her crouched over in a corner of the house watching a butterfly as if it were the only thing the world utterly enthralled by its grace and beauty oblivious to all around her. Other times she would hum songs that had never existed purely for the joy of hearing a tune. Other times she would fall into fits of laughter till tear rolled down her cheeks and she clutched her sides in pain. But she could never understand my work, I had tried on many occasions to explain what it was that I did but she just looked at me blankly her green eyes tinged with a vague fear of what I talk. She would often break these attempts to impart knowledge by suddenly giggling or pulling faces till I relented and let her play with the dogs in the garden.

In comparison Beatrice was all knowledge never once had we laughed at one of the dogs chasing its own tail, we had never sat and watched the sun set. With her it was always questioning never ceasing in the desire to find out more to find the answer to questions that man should never ask. She was determined to know though, she and I would spend many a long night in the library pouring over books far older that either of us and over texts that had taken people a life time to fathom. With her we were pushing the boundaries of comprehension to its limits.

The sun still beat down Ralla was looking at me now her dance of joy stopped, she had seen the look on my face. The look she knew was that of concentration. I looked in to her face, it was torn between worry and joy, her smooth features trying to express something that her mind could not understand. A slow smile crept across her face like water down a river and it was this smile that turned me.

I stood up from my sun drenched chair, stretching after so long in one place. I slipped of my shoes removed the socks that she had knitted for me, one green the other blue, and rolled up my trousers.

‘You are going to dance in the sun then?’ Remarked Beatrice, as I made for the steps ‘Im going to read find me when you are finished with the idiot’. She made to fly off, flapping her wings experimentally.

‘How are you going to read when you need me to turn the pages?’ I asked her and was rewarded with a glower as she retuned to her place.

I stepped of the veranda and into the sun proper and realised that I had only been seeing part of its beauty. It hit me like a wave. I smiled to her as she took my hand and we danced in the sun light.