The October Music: Second Verse - Day 30

Shattered Dreams
It is like glass as it ripples and warps and then bursts. Splinters fly and pierce your mind as you slumber without peace. Something has come. Something big. Something has split the veil between your thoughts and whatever else may be out there. Lucky you. You have a front-row seat.

Shards cut and slice and open seams in your mind. Lines of blue and black and green appear and spread, exposing boiling colors. Nothing comes through. Not yet. It seems to be enough to simply have the option. It is not your option, though. You have no say in the matter.

You could try to wake up. Should, in fact. It may work. It may do something. It may save yourself and the rest of the world. But what if it doesn’t? What if you staying asleep is what is keeping the things inside you at bay? What if it is better for the world if you never wake up? Can you accept that?

As the dreams develop, you can feel the bits push into the corners of your mind. They pierce memories and leave them bleeding. The thoughts leak and drip from where they have been sliced, like pigs at a slaughterhouse. The runoff pools on the floor of your mind and mixes together. Your prom is now part of kindergarten. Driving with your ex is mingling with the breakup in a strange, melancholy fashion.

Something calls to you from within the dream. Something dark and deep. Something wide and mean. Something that wants you to wake up, to make you a portal to wherever it’s from. Stay asleep if you can. Delay as long as you can.

You feel anger now. It comes toward you, not from you. You are not cooperating. The glass in your mind pushes deeper, cuts harder. It’s trying to hurt you now. Force you to let it out. It’s going after the most precious of your memories. Your eighth birthday where you went to Disneyland, for instance. The colors are seeping into it and changing the memory. Where you had met Mickey, now he is touching you inappropriately. Where you rode a roller coaster for the first time, now you are covered in your own vomit and fear. This blessed recollection is tainted.

Stay strong. They are only memories. They are only thoughts. They do not exist anymore and the experience itself cannot be changed. Even if you do not remember it the same way, it still happened and you can be assured of that.

It rages now. It yells at you in some unearthly voice in your mind. It tells you to wake up, to set it free. It demands action. It demands your obeisance. It will not receive it.

It did not consider what you had done. It did not know of the poison flowing in your veins. It did not know of the final trip you were taking, an escape from your life.
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Ironically enough, the needle saved the world.