Dreamer Easy

Nocturne

6.          Nocturne


        The hallway looked as if it stretched for miles. There was no clear end in sight. The dank room was accented by the clouded lights that hung above the black ceiling. Jack shivered. He could see his breath.

        It felt like a meat locker.

        There was some disturbing odor in the air; it smelt like rotting flesh and roses. And there was that color again: pale. Jack grew uneasy. The wall shot itself at his eyes, corrupting them with this horrible, empty color. He convulsed, coughed, and finally regained composure. He looked on through the blackness, but could see no light at the end of the tunnel.

        “This is…this is…” he said, coughing up the words. “This is a nightmare. It must be a nightmare.”

        Jack looked down at his watch, but the glass too was fogged over for an accurate reading. He squinted, but made out nothing more than the minute hand. It was on forty-five.

        “Damn it.” he cursed, struggling for air. It was breathable, but unpleasant. He felt like he was being poisoned. Jack shook his head and then looked up. “Alright…” he said under his breath. The airy fog lifted from his mouth and vanished into the air. “Alright.” he said again.

        Standing straight, Jack Dresden began to walk down this endless hall similar to the way prisoners would walk down death row. He would have liked to be dignified, but was horrified instead. And so began his death march, his dance—La Danse Macabre. And so began the end of Jack’s confused, corrupted life. And so began his departure from this world and his leap into the unknown.

***

        Eyes barely open, Jack continued on through the seemingly endless hallway. He was staggering now, trying to stay awake. The room seemed to shake, rattle, and change color, but Jack knew it was just in his mind. He was exhausted mentally. One of his legs gave way but he quickly leaned on the other and grasped for the wall. He stood there, hunched over, hand against the pale wall, in absolute unrest.

        He wished to be back home, in his apartment, watching television, making microwavable macaroni, and continuing his normal, boring life. But it was too late for that. Jack had dug himself a hole of some kind. A hole that was apparently very hard to escape from. Breathing heavily, Jack lifted his remaining hand to grasp his chest. Today had been a bad day. A very, very, bad day.

        “God damn it.” he coughed. “I can’t…leave.” He was choking—his eyes watered and his legs shook. Jack’s entire body quivered and he dropped to his knees, hands on his throat. His eyes closed in a slow, deliberate manner.

        And then there were meadows, rich in color, with little animals prancing around them. There were flowers, white and gold and blue. The grass was a pure, natural green and the sky was a perfect blue. There were dogs and kittens and lambs playing in the fields. The sun magnificently shone on the creatures, casting innocent little shadows on the grass. A warmth came over his body and he began to smile. He wanted to be that lamb. He wanted to be in that meadow. He wanted to be simple, free, and innocent. He wanted to die.

        But then Jack saw himself in his own illusion, casting a menacing shadow upon the green grass. He turned away from it, but it only followed his eyes. He watched it move along the grass, growing larger and larger, completely out of his control. It began approaching a young sheep, and as it moved closer it began to change shape. Closer and closer the shadow moved upon the unsuspecting lamb. Eventually, it took the shape of a lion, on the prowl, approaching the ignorant little creature feasting on the grass. And then their two shadows began to merge—the sheep and the lion’s. And then the lion opened its giant mouth, and the lamb continued to eat grass. And then that innocent little lamb was consumed.

        Jack’s eyes bulged open. He gasped for air. The hall was dizzying. The lights were flickering. He heard some music playing—maybe only in his head. Slow, creeping music, coming upon him as if it were going to swallow him up. He coughed up blood onto his unclean hands. At least, it looked like blood. It felt like saliva. Lifting his head, he noticed the entire hallway was in sort of a reddish hue that looked to be coming from the overhead lights.

        He looked up at the ceiling. The lights pulsed in some dooming, nightmarish color of red. The red rays lashed across the hallway’s ugly paleness. His vision swirled and blurred and created some terrible mixture of color describable only to a nightmare’s imagination.  This hall was the road to hell.

        The music continued to play. That soft, silent, creeping music. Jack grimaced. He felt his spine tingle as he stood up. The music grew louder. It followed him as he walked forward towards the indeterminate end of the hall. He limped slowly, keeping his breath in tact, with one hand against the side of the wall, holding him up. He coughed up more blood, or saliva.

        “I can’t…” he muttered, chewing the air. “I can’t go on…” he moaned.

        He closed his eyes and recalled his dream. He recalled the meadow and the animals and the lamb. And he remembered his shadow swallowing that innocent little lamb; much like the music was swallowing him now.

        And he cried for that lamb. He cried for its life, its innocence, its purity, and its ignorance. But most of all he cried for himself, and his shadow which swallowed it up. And he wanted to die.

        “Damn it!” he cursed at the air, in tears. But there was no one around to hear. “God damn it!” he yelled, as he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Yet he walked on. He walked on into the unknown.

        He continued on down that dreadful hall: past his dreams of innocence, past that heavenly meadow, past that world he once knew, right out of eden. And he wondered if he could ever return.