Nightmare

Oct. 14th, 2008 01:17 pm
etienne_bessette: (lensmoor seish)
[personal profile] etienne_bessette
This is another Lensmoor story post. I haven't been doing much writing outside of that fandom lately. This particular story was written as a submission for a contest held by the clergy of Lord Sindri, God of Nightmares. It won first place. ^_^

Title: Nightmare
Fandom: Lensmoor MUD
Characters: OC, obviously
Genre: Expressive piece
Rating: PG-13 for hints of torture.
Warning: Obscure fandom. Is it even a fandom??



Nightmare

The narrow paths of my life wind through straining hills of optimism and terminate in thickets of horror. I am beginning to believe that my
traitorous subconscious leads me to those thickets despite my waking efforts to escape. Within the thickets, the wide-mouthed screams of a young girl are choked by the tangled indurium brambles curling lovingly around my slickly bloodied wrists. But what I strain the most desperately not to hear are the soft whispers of Antrippa's sandstone.

My freedom is everything to me. The feel of the cool wind's unfettered fingers against my chestnut-brown skin is what caresses my heart to beat. I wake. I move. I breathe. But the sunwashed sandstone threatens softly in my dreams to steal it all away from me.

I was once a slave to the savage continent. Held in a hall where the sand sleeps beneath black stone that no one remembers laying down. Indurium shackles wrapped with magic sealed my body to the room and my magic somewhere else where I couldn't reach it. But I kept my tongue and wielded it against my captor. My only weapon served as a means to desperation. I urged my master to break my body so that my will would be strong enough in the wake of my insanity to allow me my last plan for escape.

He melted the stone beneath me. Coarse and dry sand once solid beneath my bruised feet liquified under me in response to the stretch of his will. Gooey and sticky, the quicksand clung to me and pulled me slowly down. "I will bury you," he told me, "beneath this city for all eternity. A small hole to let you breathe is all that you will have. You will lie there, trapped forever, unless you yield.

I yielded. I took the horror of that threat and freed myself with it later. But the Sands did not forget, and my skin still remembers the eager sucking as the ground pulled me down.

It wants me still. The darkness at the corners of my open dreams clings at my vulnerable mind. It closes in, and suddenly my dreams have been squeezed aside by a thick, wet blackness. I cannot move. I cannot see. I feel the grit and smell the musty hatred of ancient soil. The blackness crushes me in a fierce, possessive grip, and I know-- I know --the weight of that terrible, unseen gaze! The malevolence heaves out panic from my throat, and my mind is blind with the terror of being buried alive, and I scream only to hear ageless laughter mocking my desperate cries.

It does not want me to wake up. But every time, I do. I escape the dream and gaze with sweat-washed eyes into a sunrise as golden as the
light-bathed sandstone.

Every time, I fear the coming of the night from which I shall not awaken.


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Etienne Bessette

August 2012

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