Kuranes' awakening

This story takes place before the events leading to the death of our main protagonist.

I was dreaming. When my mind and body were at peace, in a sweet embrace keeping my perception of the world vivid while keeping me free from pain, I was feeling well. As my neurons were firing like an artillery unit, at a nimble, almost demoniac, pace, all working in cooperation, I was truly alive. When I felt oppressed, I dreamt of spaces bigger than the eye could see and the mind could withstand. Although life kept getting harder and harder on my body and mind, pushing me to the brink of absolute despair, dreaming always enabled me to face reality when I would awaken. Only in my dreams I felt whole, the world running per my principles was just and ravishing while life has only ever been disdainful and uncanny to me.

Of course, I was no god in my dream world. I could get hurt and die (though I would wake up before I could truly die in the dream), but never through some malicious actions. I wasn't in total control during my dream, and I preferred it that way because otherwise, it would have held less value to me if my power was absolute, and I like to think I'm not megalomaniac to put myself in an omnipotent role in my own dreams.

I had the feeling that the realism of my experience was unique enough to be shared, and I hoped my dream tales would spike the interest of at least some people. Since I started writing my dreams, life kept on deceiving me so I spent more and more time sleeping and paradoxically acquired in this time more writing matter for my books than I could recollect from fleeting memories of past dreams. Since I was spending most of my time dreaming at this point, I felt remorse for the lack of progress in the writing of my stories. The accumulation of new, ever more life-like stories to tell made me feel more and more that it would be a waste to die, leaving the experience that my life had been unbeknownst to the world.

When I woke up on this rainy day of February, I had a powerful, submerging impulse of creativity leaving me more determinate than I knew I could ever be to commence my life's work. In my barren room, the only place I could endure in my dismal apartment, I commenced writing. As I wrote restlessly for hours on end, I entered a trance so deep, I lost all self-control. After what seemed like weeks, my work was over. My mind and body were so sore I could not sustain myself and fell violently to the bare floor. For the first time, I did not dream. The feeling of satisfaction, in the real world, was so new to me it had left me so astonished, I did not need to dream this time for my sleep to be restful and repairing. As I woke up, I felt fresh and new, even though I had slept on the floor, I was more alive than I had ever been.

I rushed down the building to the streets and visited every editor I could think of. To every book publisher that would grant me a meeting, I presented a summary of my work that I had carefully copied over and over on carbon paper, 39 times to be precise. Every time they refused to give my book a chance and look closer into it, I did not consider it a defeat and kept going on with the same determination. Finally, an editor accepted to read further into it. This was not a famed, renowned or even trusted book publisher, for he had a nasty reputation, having been accused several times of stealing the work of authors and claiming it as is own but I wasn't looking for recognition at this point anymore. All I wanted was for my work to be published and my point of view upon the world to be discovered by the masses of otherwise indifferent people.

As I returned home, I fell into a deep, dreamful slumber. I dreamt about marvelous lands of gold and milk, of bottomless seas haunted by mysterious specters, of endless purple skies, of new colors and out of this world emotions and many other marvels my mind presented before me. Among those marvels, the most compelling was for sure a delightful valley spilling in my mind a feeling of golden euphory, melting pleasure, embracing euphor. For I do not know how I learned the name of such a blessed place, but I was convinced the name was Ooth-Nargai, the land of the mythical city Celephaïs. I had already entered the city as a troubled yet insouciant youth, and had been amazed by the treasures and the utmost peace of the grandiose city of Celephaïs. I was euphoric at the thought of getting only a glimpse of the city after all these years. Alas, all I could see was the golden aura of the city, beckoning me, no, attracting me irresistibly towards the city just to leave my hopes of penetrating in the city again unfulfilled and my corpse lying on my sweaty, filthy, horrible bed in this horrible apartment in this disgusting city full of terrible people of London and I was hungry and ashamed and sad and losing my sanity over this and everything.

The sense of fear was horrendous, staggering when the thought came to me: I would never see Celephaïs again. I have been punished for my arrogance and my ego will keep me away from this holy land as I do not deserve it. No, I thought, I cannot resolve to stay conscious in this bleak reality, trapped away from Celephaïs, I must be in the realms of dreams as often as I could to see it again !

Suddenly, I realized that I had begun to lose my sanity since I saw Celephaïs again. This city must have been a construct of my frustrated mind. I wanted to see my work published so much I almost got mad. I just needed to wait.

For two years, I waited. Chased and gnawed tothe bones by anxiety, sometimes even in my dreams, I waited for my work to beread by someone, anybody at all. One grim, tasteless day like many other, I realized that people were not able to realize what was inside of my mind.First, I was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and, oddlyenough, impending doom. I knew my life in this plane of reality was over. Iknew I had to rule my own world. This reality has never been true. Unfair and mean, I don't belong to it. There was only one thing to do. I must sleep now.