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.