IP: 108.112.80.243
Posted on April 17, 2013 at 04:00:07 AM by saqr
 Sleep blankets me. I’m wandering, as I often do in dreams, searching for something. I’m not entirely sure what it is that I seek, but I know I will recognize it. It isn’t a powerful drive that encourages me forward, but a mild curiosity. Almost as though I simply want to know what could possibly interest me for so long - as though I’m experiencing the dream from a detached perspective. It’s this thought that triggers the realization that I’m dreaming. My dream-self abruptly falls into a yawning chasm and I jerk into awareness. My blooddrop eyes blink once, twice in protest of wakefulness, but my will is stronger. I rise to my full height and yawn into the bright morning sunshine, stretching. My muscles roll beneath my glorious, healthy coat and I groan as my joints loosen. Only briefly do I reflect on the verisimilitude of my familiar dreams; my mind is a busy place. I give my great head a shake and off I go. I break into an easy stride, a relaxed pace that devilishly hints at the speed and power I am capable of. I follow the circumference of the great crater, as I have been for some time now, passing over the sun dried earth like a spectre. Except to eat and sleep, I haven’t stopped for days; I don’t often stop to socialize. Again, I am a busy guy. But every now and then I come across a creature that slows me to a pause, that draws me in and brings me inspiration. I like to play games, and the second player is pivotal to the story. I see her, the white girl standing alone. Is she angel? I saunter across the hot stone, obvious in my direction but without any urgency, and immediately pop myself into her personal space. We are about the same height and build - she looks good to me today. I eye her suggestively and come forward. I brush past her shoulder and circle around to stand at her side, flashing my fiendish grin. I am so near her that the tips of our coats are almost touching, but I don’t touch her yet. I am not blitzkrieg today, I am pestilence: waiting, patient. I want to wear you down, you sad, pretty thing. “‘morning,” I grumble in my smooth baritones. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” three || ---- || 41” / 185lbs || ---- || boundless |
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