I reach through my mind into the night, searching, endlessly searching. Reaching, grasping, pawing, clawing, biting, straining to reach the unreachable. Loosely bound prose floating through the air, vanishing into dust with the slightest glace. With realization reality vanishes into the night. This is not how it is supposed to happen, there in the mirror of my mind I see myself. Seemingly safe in bed, a tempest raging beneath the surface. I am suddenly not myself, and something new flows through my mind.
This night he will not dream, there will be no reprieve no will nightmares wake him. For he slept a sleep that not even death could wake him from. When the dawn breaks when will wake to find the world he left the world he fears to find. Nothing will be what it seems, and what things seem to be will not be what they appear. Up will be left and left will be down and down will be up and you will be forever changed yet altogether unchanged. I hold his life in the palm of my hand and bend his will to my own, he will by dancer on the world's stage, through him I will splinter time and mold it to my liking.
And thus, I begin to dream, not falling, or drifting, but thrust deep into a dream you would never wish to dream. And I wake, cold, alone, and unsure. This is no way to spend a night.
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