swilow
Bluelight Crew
I had a really strange dream.
In it, I was beneath steel-grey skies; a wind whistled and whipped my hair as I strode, apparently with great purpose, towards a man, spreadeagled and naked, strapped to a large circle of stone. As I approached the imprisoned figure, vague features coalesced into true visage; and I began to see- the cheekbones, the eyes, the mouth- the face-
I hefted the sledgehammer which had appeared; from left hand to right, and then back again. The hammer itself had a weight which belied its dimensions; it felt like a feather, yet looked like earth-on-a-stick. I switched it again, from left to right.
Then back to the left hand; my right, holding robes billowing in an unfelt wind, concealing the scars and ravages of war with demons. The hammer hung helplessly, or helpfully- if a hammer could be said to have intent. It hung, anyhow, dragging through stones, creating an undeniable path which trailed behind me. I noticed an older, similarly constructed path, leading me forwards.
The figure, tied on this stone, tied on this stone in a colloseum-like arena, paved yet broken; Rome 10,000 years after decay....The figure, eyes, hair, slumping shoulders- clearer and clearer. Ropes dug in, and around, the figure, tying him to the stone; his body, splayed.
My hammer got heavier and the trail it left became a ditch- but the figure; his nose, his cheekbones; was bound to the rock.
I chanced a glance at the sky; boiling clouds which hid all sense of light; the figure on the rock, tied- wind whipped, cold. The sun did not hold court here.
I was closer now, and my purpose was clear. The hammer's weight- relief from it, as it became, once more, as if a feather. I raised it above my head, noting the hundred or so metres between this bound figure and I; the hammer was easily wielded, and the figure was bound. Purpose was etched into every motion of the wind and leaves through the deserted arena. The figure moved slightly, betraying something more I could recongnise. A struggling gesture against bonds, and yes, I remembered struggling against similar bonds in an arena, aeons ago. They (the ropes) had chafed, and then bit with vigour and no relent.
Still- my approach was slow, as if through solidifed air, or through water. But I could see the eyebrow, their gentle shape- the nose, small yet evident. I must be closing in- a thought which danced across my mind.
I looked upwards again and saw a murder; they wheeled, awaiting. Crowking. Crows; awaiting.
And then- I saw the figure, bound. The face was familar; the eyes, cheeks, the eybrows, the thin lips; I'd seen this person, and knew what I had to do.
50 feet remained between us; and the air became as air again.
That hair! I had seen it; the figure, bound, began struggling- I wished to call out, imploring; yet- sound was not apparent. Then I heard my voice anyway- but no language I knew was uttered.
I shifted the hammer to my right hand, and prepared.
The stone- it was old, and appeared of natural origin; no trace of work by man could be seen on it, and nature had had her play, dripping moss and eroding, leaving traces of decay- small pits, filled with dirt- it seemed that the stone may recently have been under earth; and I realised then- I am standing right in front of the figure.
Eyes, nose, cheeks, hair, lips, voice imploring; I raise the sledge-hammer, leather bound rock to polished wood. The bound figure was desperate; at least, in bodily motion- for words, implored, were unheard by me. Echoes were, perhaps, but the crows above aren't silent.
One foot away- eye to eye- I can smell his breath and fear-sweat; my own fear reverberating off his.
The hammer was help high, and cast an unlikley shadow, far beyond the ability of light to bend.
The figure was bound, and I understood; in an instant, the hammer descended, and crushes the figures face, and all motion stops. I fall to my knees, gravel biting skin, hammer discarded, bloody face casting judgment upon me.
The crows were circling lower now.
The figure was still bound- but dead, as I had been put to death, aeons ago, star-systems away.
I wipe the tears from my face, and look, perchance to see; and thus I saw- the figure, bound, was me.
A scream tore my throat- but this glutinous air allowed no utterance, and the scream died instantly.
I awake, disoriented and confused, cold, shaking, a real scream echoing in my ears and the pain of its utterance in my throat.
And look down at my lap; where the severed head of my best friend lay, gazing blankly at the wall where upon I had written four words in blood; there is no god.
I screamed and from then to now, I have never stopped.
In it, I was beneath steel-grey skies; a wind whistled and whipped my hair as I strode, apparently with great purpose, towards a man, spreadeagled and naked, strapped to a large circle of stone. As I approached the imprisoned figure, vague features coalesced into true visage; and I began to see- the cheekbones, the eyes, the mouth- the face-
I hefted the sledgehammer which had appeared; from left hand to right, and then back again. The hammer itself had a weight which belied its dimensions; it felt like a feather, yet looked like earth-on-a-stick. I switched it again, from left to right.
Then back to the left hand; my right, holding robes billowing in an unfelt wind, concealing the scars and ravages of war with demons. The hammer hung helplessly, or helpfully- if a hammer could be said to have intent. It hung, anyhow, dragging through stones, creating an undeniable path which trailed behind me. I noticed an older, similarly constructed path, leading me forwards.
The figure, tied on this stone, tied on this stone in a colloseum-like arena, paved yet broken; Rome 10,000 years after decay....The figure, eyes, hair, slumping shoulders- clearer and clearer. Ropes dug in, and around, the figure, tying him to the stone; his body, splayed.
My hammer got heavier and the trail it left became a ditch- but the figure; his nose, his cheekbones; was bound to the rock.
I chanced a glance at the sky; boiling clouds which hid all sense of light; the figure on the rock, tied- wind whipped, cold. The sun did not hold court here.
I was closer now, and my purpose was clear. The hammer's weight- relief from it, as it became, once more, as if a feather. I raised it above my head, noting the hundred or so metres between this bound figure and I; the hammer was easily wielded, and the figure was bound. Purpose was etched into every motion of the wind and leaves through the deserted arena. The figure moved slightly, betraying something more I could recongnise. A struggling gesture against bonds, and yes, I remembered struggling against similar bonds in an arena, aeons ago. They (the ropes) had chafed, and then bit with vigour and no relent.
Still- my approach was slow, as if through solidifed air, or through water. But I could see the eyebrow, their gentle shape- the nose, small yet evident. I must be closing in- a thought which danced across my mind.
I looked upwards again and saw a murder; they wheeled, awaiting. Crowking. Crows; awaiting.
And then- I saw the figure, bound. The face was familar; the eyes, cheeks, the eybrows, the thin lips; I'd seen this person, and knew what I had to do.
50 feet remained between us; and the air became as air again.
That hair! I had seen it; the figure, bound, began struggling- I wished to call out, imploring; yet- sound was not apparent. Then I heard my voice anyway- but no language I knew was uttered.
I shifted the hammer to my right hand, and prepared.
The stone- it was old, and appeared of natural origin; no trace of work by man could be seen on it, and nature had had her play, dripping moss and eroding, leaving traces of decay- small pits, filled with dirt- it seemed that the stone may recently have been under earth; and I realised then- I am standing right in front of the figure.
Eyes, nose, cheeks, hair, lips, voice imploring; I raise the sledge-hammer, leather bound rock to polished wood. The bound figure was desperate; at least, in bodily motion- for words, implored, were unheard by me. Echoes were, perhaps, but the crows above aren't silent.
One foot away- eye to eye- I can smell his breath and fear-sweat; my own fear reverberating off his.
The hammer was help high, and cast an unlikley shadow, far beyond the ability of light to bend.
The figure was bound, and I understood; in an instant, the hammer descended, and crushes the figures face, and all motion stops. I fall to my knees, gravel biting skin, hammer discarded, bloody face casting judgment upon me.
The crows were circling lower now.
The figure was still bound- but dead, as I had been put to death, aeons ago, star-systems away.
I wipe the tears from my face, and look, perchance to see; and thus I saw- the figure, bound, was me.
A scream tore my throat- but this glutinous air allowed no utterance, and the scream died instantly.
I awake, disoriented and confused, cold, shaking, a real scream echoing in my ears and the pain of its utterance in my throat.
And look down at my lap; where the severed head of my best friend lay, gazing blankly at the wall where upon I had written four words in blood; there is no god.
I screamed and from then to now, I have never stopped.
