Written on 27 January 2019
A dove sat just above me, out of reach, but obviously meant for me.
What I was supposed to do with the dove once I'd caught it, who knows? But this was a quest. The vista was dry and warm, and the dove merrily pecked away at an apple on a branch.
But I couldn't move, and soon I was being overrun by mice, not real mice, of course, but mice that scuttled and writhed and let out a low hiss. Biting, scratching. Soon, they covered every inch of land and sky, tree and me. I was suffocating as I desperately tried to move, but no doing. The weight of the mice pushed me down down down into the earth, right down to the core.
Silence now, but for the beeping. Always the beeping. Reliably monotonous. Sulphur in my nostrils, naturally. The cave was dark, and the rocks were hot. This couldn't be, could it? Hell? A shadowy figure approached, more mist and smoke then human. Towering, 7, 8, 9 feet and always growing. The figure lurched over me, the smell of sulphur so strong, as the it engulfed my face, obscuring everything. And still the beep.
It's fine though. The raft carries me away, and I can see all the stars. All of them. So bright it could be daylight. The water gently rocking the wooden raft, it's arms wrapping me tightly keeping me safe. The stars get brighter, and I can't see for the beautiful brilliant impossible light. And the beeping stops, replaced by one, shuddering, constant beep. And the light eats me up. And I abscond.