Past, present, or future?
Asleep, or awake?
It’s getting hard to distinguish between them.
I try to open my eyes, only to find they are already open. I try to sleep, only to find I am already dreaming. Sometimes I can’t tell where reality ends and my visions begin. I’m beginning to question my own sanity. Yet, the visions are the only thing I truly trust.
They have shown me, timeless times, the truth when all else would lie. But the lines are blurring.
Present, future, past. Future, past, present. Past, present, future. Which occurs after the other? These ideas used to mean something. Now they are only arbitrary boundaries, created by those that cannot see beyond them, that cannot walk between them, as I do.
Breathing. Heart slowing, thoughts turning inward, toward the truth.
Visions swirl and coalesce …
It is nighttime, as it always is now. The moon still full overhead, and that thing still in the sky. They compete against each other. One giving light and the other stealing it away. I can feel them now, more than ever. Working together to pull everything toward them, caught in a rising tide.
In fact, that’s exactly what it is.
Standing on the beach, in ankle-high water. The water is too high, far beyond the rising of the tide. The moons are disturbing this world physically now, drawing away it’s light, it’s life, and drowning it in a rising tide of water and death.
In the distance, the rising sea crashes against rock, spray and mists filling the air. There, barely visible beyond the mists, stands the ghostly silhouette of a fortress, ancient and forgotten.
I walk toward it, curious at first. With each step, my movement slows. I grow afraid, but am compelled forward. Fate is taking me there, though my mind and body advise against it.
It is closer now, venerable towers climbing into the night sky, the walls wet and reflecting moonlight. I want to stop, to turn away, to run away, but I can’t. I am pulled closer. I can feel it now, the source of the pull. The fortress is dark and foreboding. I can hear screams of anger and torment coming from beyond its walls. But most of all, above the screams, piercing through the darkness, cutting through the mists, assaulting my mind … I feel a deep, dark, ancient hunger. No, not hunger … thirst.