Respite of a Distant Dream

Who Is To Blame?

Above, eyes cast upward, a serenade of celestial bodies and heaven displayed upon velvet black- stars of white bloomed in an ethereal glow, the moonlight basks him as the earth below bathes in the brilliant lunar glow. Milky white and simultaneously coffee-dark clouds are wrapped, intertwined and smudged with each other- illuminated by the specks of light all around, it peers at the land below, unmoored.

The cosmos is reflected in Gregory's weary gaze- lungs of stardust and air, soul of fire- hands of metal and earth, eyes of tears that glistened and fell like rain and dew. Every breath feels like a gulp of water, the wind's ice nibbles his skin in a comforting embrace. The elysian grass of Utah, a lime yellow shade, dances elegantly in the wind below his feet, his steps lighter than the breeze itself- he opens his eyes wide and and finds the heavens reflected in his eyes.

A soul remade anew. This is the treasured land that he walks once more.

Concealed in the lush canopies of the fir and pine forest, gazing at the glimmering, silver-cradled waters of the calm riverbank, spurs something tranquil within him. It is as though the scenery around him, bathed in fleeting dreams and quiet, unassuming wishes, is beckoning him to rest. Light and darkness in tandem is like stepping into something clear and light: the song of the wind made his ears tune out the noise, his eyes water and ache: the bright, coin-sized crescent of the moon in the sky and the bristling of the branches and leaves around Gregory made him wish to do nothing but sleep by the riverside.

Idiot, his mind scorns, and a pang of shame washes over him like the whitecaps of the beach's waves. Have you not slumbered long enough? Life shall coddle you no more.

He catches himself gritting his teeth together, rubbing his thumb in restless, persistent circles against his index finger. He glances to the streetlights above the road he was near, fluorescent lights casting ghostly beams down into the smooth, obsidian-dark pavement.

Still nighttime. Whilst everyone sleeps cocooned in the comfort of a bed, I must make do with the world around me, he muses. Not that he minded, of course- he was once the earth and stars, just as everyone was- why should he have any right to complain.

Evan. The nightmares.

His smile vanishes from his face, every trace all but gone. His brows furrow, creased together in pain and empathy from deep within- his lips tighten, eyes darken, fists clench.

Pity. Those with courage and power need not any pity... nor do they desire such sentiments.

Evan... so lost and confused, just as he was. His other self, his past life... the boy carried potential and unrealizing strength within him- and yet he was scared. Every step he took, he doubted himself. Every articulate sentence he spoke, he would hesitate and refrain from expressing an opinion. Coyness was something he utterly despised- the absurd illusion of thinking that you are not in control of yourself- of your future... he wanted to crush that belief, burn it from his past life's mind entirely until not even the ashes remained- the desire quivered so strong with fervent need that his hands utterly itched with it, every pore of his being alight with that anger.

The black-shirt boy must've been donning his cotton, silken-soft Fredbear pyjamas right about now- wanting to plunge into the blackest of blacks, shut off all the noise and silence all the colours and lights- let everything be sublimated in utter stillness so he could sleep.

Such memories were unpleasant to recall- every time his eyes closed, they would flutter- every creak of the floor, every rustle of the wind was too loud in his ears- the mechanical breathing outside his door would send him reeling, wide awake and shaking like a string pulled taut until dawn.