Fantasy- Updates Exist Sporadically

Dream Twenty-Four

He was flying, but it wasn't peaceful. There was something chasing him. The humming from before was after him, flying through the air with him, right behind him, ready to reach out and grab him and take him away if he slowed down the slightest bit. He flew, flew as fast as he could, but the sound, the thing, was always there, looming. He was tired, but he kept going. He had to. He tried to change how high he was to throw off the humming thing, going up, up, up, going down, down, down, but it wouldn't leave. It followed him no matter what he did—graze the ground with his fingers, skim the white things in the sky. And it was getting nearer.

He stayed low, looking for a building he could fly into and hide. But there was nothing, just the green ground, the grass. Nothing. Not even a tree.

He hit something—he didn't know what. He tried to escape—fly, fly, fly—but the more he struggled, the more tangled he became, until he could barely move his fingers. The humming was here, right above his head, never coming closer or moving farther away. It remained there, watching him get tangled in whatever this invisible thing was, suspended in the air.

Then the Guards came. He heard them first, their stomping footsteps coming from behind him. They laughed at him, how he was trapped before suddenly he was falling, hitting the ground hard, landing on his side. It hurt, but he knew better than to make a sound of pain. It would only make things worse. One Guard threw him over his shoulder, still tied up and unable to move. He could see past the Guard's legs though, and he saw that front of the Warehouse's building. They were taking him back! He struggled, trying to squirm his way out of the Guard's grip and the tying-up thing. He couldn't go there, he couldn't. They would take all of his dreams away, his freedom dream would be gone. He couldn't let them take his freedom dream. Life was pointless without it.

He fought. He fought for his dream and for his life. But the Guard's grip never slackened, the thing he was tied in grew tighter. He needed to get out! They were opening the door that led to the Machine. He would be forced to have a chain and work the Machine. He couldn't go back on the production line. He wouldn't! He struggled harder, trying to kick the Guard who was carrying him, but all he managed was relentless squirming. They went inside. He stared at the other Draugmae on the production line with their headpieces and multi-colored pills. That would be him soon.

They tossed him on a cot, flat on his face. He felt them pulling at the stuff tying him, and then he could move his head again. He heard a chain clink together and he tossed his head from side to side as fast as he dared, trying to prevent the chain from being hooked onto him. But a Guard grabbed his now-short hair, pulling it hard, forcing his head to still. He heard the chain click into place. He felt like crying. If he did, they'd beat him. He heard them shuffling behind him, except for the Guard holding his hair. They were getting the headpiece ready. He was doomed. He would be forced back onto the Machine; the humming would return in full force. He would live without his dreams. What equaled living. He didn't want this. He couldn't allow this. But he couldn't fight the Guards, they were so much stronger than him. He would be stuck here for the rest of his life. There was no escape from the Warehouse.