The Day Before. (Undergoing Re-Writing as 05/25) (Sequences 1-4 finished)

Sequence One.

Sequence One.

There is a sun—the sun—on the horizon. It is dry in this place, I feel, realizing—a sense of illness finds me likely. The unkindly kind be, sorrow eve idly, the kind you see ever so slightly through the ivy vines blindly. I'd see... lightening, the rays of the sun illuminate a vast, open and sandy wasteland that's sort of frightening. Oh, how drear. It all feels somewhat surreal, residing here. Is that thunder I hear? I sneer.

It is like that of a desert, really. Empty and eerie everything feels, sincere. I stand in place as the dry wind blows through my hair and across my face. I can feel the air, I'm sure. I remember bits and pieces. I think this is the end.

I'm sure I can feel it. I pace. I hear... screaming. Bloodcurdling screams, not far from where I roam. Also not far, a lone tree that stands in the midst of all this space sits where it grew, in decay, dying away. It sways. The screams they fade. It smells here, it smells bad. Like an oily rag.

I can feel the tree's pain, in a way. There it sits in the nothingness, such a shame. A lone, small bird sits upon one of it's few decrepit branches, dark and black-looking, astray.

The tree... it burns with a stiff fright. Not a thing else obtrudes my sight, before the tree and the bird—not in flight. The bird; not in flight, continues to fly—to nowhere at all. Then there it burns up not a moment more, along with the tree, churning and turning into something obscure, like that of make believe or a blur, or something else along the line of absurd.

The tree falls and collapses into the ground, peppering ash onto my eyelash. Hollow trunk, mellow sound. When it struck and hit the unsweet ground—tattered, shattered the remains of a vacant mound. There, without a sound, the rest of the ash falls down to the ground. The barren background behind moans it's silent tune. In it, only rusted remnants remain, laid a strewn.

Metal aberrations turned devastation. Revelations lying in the sand. Expectation of patients trying to repent, relying heart and hand on a nation eagerly awaiting the end. Conversations, obverse observations of station's relations to the place's creation. Desert sensation. No more nation. No more patient, but one.

What's left touched now only by the shaking hand of a grieving man, aged in his stance and silently bowed—his eyes dried raw—his face it frowns. Stuck now in an endless, teary-eyed glance of wretched woe. There he falls to his knees, his moans bellow. As the warm, dusty breeze still lightly blows, there the man falls back in hopeless swoon, succumbing to the nothingness that now starts to bloom.

The elderly man lies back his head in a final expense. Then there forever he will lay, likely until he fully decays away, doomed and marooned by time and space. Bound to the ground, lifeless and dead. His stories and the life that he led, a meaningless tread. Away his spirit flies, invisible to me like that breeze that continues to blow by, never to rest. Unlike the bird, not in flight—that could've flown—yet now lies there dead just like him.

Here we are, speak the truth, never lie. Last night happened a grisly fight. Upon the face of the Earth, scarred bodies lie on the cold ground tonight. Tell me, what happened that fateful night, to you?

A fight? What is this scene that I observe. It so seems cursed. I bow my head down, as if in reserve. My nerves... Is this such a fate that the world ruled he deserves?

The wind blows, a sandstorm erupts. I hide my eyes, my tear ducts crust. A cool wind gusts over the corrupted rust, and I trust myself to open my eyes to see...darkness. What?

Brown the ground beneath—brown—like these hands of mine now digging down into hardened clay. Frowning now, I feel this way. Like I am the imperfection, the dismay. All of this realm it now vanishes away. All of it derailed? All of it all of the sudden... something else?

That dusty hell where I dwelled, that wasted place—all of it designed—just imagined in my mind, I guess. The man, not alive nor dead, just a figment of thought. The tree and the bird, just a meaningless vision and a question that is unanswered to me. I realize all of this. I can. I think. It all disappears.

Lost in darkness I scream and panic. The feeling I'm nothing has become gigantic. Then, like a calming bloom the moon starts to rise. Then soon the crystal-like glaze it shines from the sky. Like shimmering lakes or fields of unkempt golden maze. Then also now the settling haze that serenades their fertile blades—this right before a swarm of locusts brazens their fate. A dark cloud it pours down onto everything. Like that in a way, a rot it churns, burns and it urns to triumph and take. My mind it consumes, darkness awaits.

The cloud arises before me—in my eye—fills them with water so salty, it's dry. I hear the rain fall all around me. I scream and I scream, I see myself die. In front of me now, myself stands, I am alive. A second cloud speaks to me with colorful hue, meant not what is meant, but known by the few.

The cloud it grows almighty into the sky, it's grey design shaking my might. It has a face, it is unpleasant but right. It looks at me in disgrace, am I alright?

A new vision blurs my only sight. This sight, now turned red and white—a snowy kite. Black and yellow too, tethered to a feather. Soon the kite it soars and it takes flight, unbound by Earth and weight. Then it is struck—struck down by lightning. Completed and defeated it tears and drops. Like the hand of God, it falls down into a cloud of decaying dust.

Crawl. My mind it crawls. It crawls and it sprawls out through this long, dark and black ovoid devoid void, a boy once man chasing a light now destroyed. I crawl through it to a light. I crawl and fall out of a hole and into the light. Annoyed that all is now a wooded area, visions of bright. Ages of mysteries—I feel them following behind me. I'm sure I'm right. Memories not of my own, but possibly known to be, yet banished and frowned. Then, as if renown to the end of the darkness behind, the sun starts to set, and seemingly drowns.

Crowned. Drowned. Profound. Obviously downed. Yet this is reality now. I stand in astound. How did I get to this mound of ground? There are trees here, grass is around. Down I stare, wet dirt surrounds. I dig down. My mind starts to race as I stand up and run. Everything races so fast in my mind. It paces right past me and vanishes beyond. I know not where or how I exist now. Where am I? Do I understand?

Lately the safety of my havens be maybe. I turn to my mind to vaguely play on these shady miscellanies. Disobey my thoughts do they, plainly. My mind ills and it then spills, and despite the thrill, the obvious appeal of the real, that ripe apple. I disappear.

All is now light and nothing but bright, like a new beginning. The end of a thinning, something unproved. Stooped so low and shattering through—I close my eyes and I fall asleep. My eyes wide open, dreaming of something, and the nothing that is there.