Old Dream - New Visitor
Posted: Thu May 03, 2007 12:23 pm
The dreams are back . . . the ones I used to have. When Not Me was roaming my head at will, they had gone. In all honesty, that was a sort of relief . . . to face the nightmares he devised to torture me rather than the ones that drove me out into the streets night after night.
They had been gone for a while actually. I almost thought I was free of them.
But the dreams were back. I know that my father would have described it as the Reckoning. He would have claimed I was having visions of the Gates of Hell opening up and the Devil’s minions pouring out to feast upon the wicked.
But I’ve known, since the institution, that this was no work of divine good or divine evil
This was far worse.
The deaths of millions had caused the very fabric of reality to tear itself apart, unleashing world storms and demon swarms. In turn, the chaos claimed tens of millions of lives which fuelled massive tectonic catastrophes and brought forth beasts from beyond all understanding. Soon the death toll was in the hundreds of millions and finally billions in an uncontrollable feedback cycle. The sky was filled with ash from a thousand volcanoes and the smoke of a thousand dead cities. The sea rose to claim the land in tsunamis that raced hundreds of miles inland . . .
This was beyond Armageddon, beyond Apocalypse, beyond Ragnarok . . .
This was the End of the World.
And I was standing, helpless, rooted to the spot.
I knew I could have prevented this. I knew I should be fighting, giving those few who may survive the precious moments to escape.
But I was frozen. Helpless in anger and fear.
A hand touched my shoulder and slid down my wrist to grasp my hand and hold it tightly.
“It’s all right, Ron,” a voice said. “Everything will be all right.”
Suddenly, I could move my head. I looked to the hand holding mine. It was slim and tanned and delicate, obviously female’s.
“What do you mean?” I said. “The world is dying down there and I’m not doing a damned thing to help!”
“Can you?” the feminine voice asked.
“I’m doing my damnedest!” I cried out furiously. “This is what I was chosen for! I should be down there helping them! Even if I die doing it!”
The voice was unruffled by my outburst.
“You’ve always helped humanity when you could. But even you must accept your limitations, Ron Caliburn. Why worry about something you cannot help?”
Then I woke up.
They had been gone for a while actually. I almost thought I was free of them.
But the dreams were back. I know that my father would have described it as the Reckoning. He would have claimed I was having visions of the Gates of Hell opening up and the Devil’s minions pouring out to feast upon the wicked.
But I’ve known, since the institution, that this was no work of divine good or divine evil
This was far worse.
The deaths of millions had caused the very fabric of reality to tear itself apart, unleashing world storms and demon swarms. In turn, the chaos claimed tens of millions of lives which fuelled massive tectonic catastrophes and brought forth beasts from beyond all understanding. Soon the death toll was in the hundreds of millions and finally billions in an uncontrollable feedback cycle. The sky was filled with ash from a thousand volcanoes and the smoke of a thousand dead cities. The sea rose to claim the land in tsunamis that raced hundreds of miles inland . . .
This was beyond Armageddon, beyond Apocalypse, beyond Ragnarok . . .
This was the End of the World.
And I was standing, helpless, rooted to the spot.
I knew I could have prevented this. I knew I should be fighting, giving those few who may survive the precious moments to escape.
But I was frozen. Helpless in anger and fear.
A hand touched my shoulder and slid down my wrist to grasp my hand and hold it tightly.
“It’s all right, Ron,” a voice said. “Everything will be all right.”
Suddenly, I could move my head. I looked to the hand holding mine. It was slim and tanned and delicate, obviously female’s.
“What do you mean?” I said. “The world is dying down there and I’m not doing a damned thing to help!”
“Can you?” the feminine voice asked.
“I’m doing my damnedest!” I cried out furiously. “This is what I was chosen for! I should be down there helping them! Even if I die doing it!”
The voice was unruffled by my outburst.
“You’ve always helped humanity when you could. But even you must accept your limitations, Ron Caliburn. Why worry about something you cannot help?”
Then I woke up.
