A pattern zig zagged within the eyes of the motley crowd. Hands grabbed at hands as they waved upwards. From the sea of people rose a multitude of crosses, which tickled the heels of the Few, floating freely within their warbling hovering white couches. And despite their similarity of poverty, the Many were divided amongst themselves, more enemies than competition.
It was a lake of boiling blood.
I saw myself there, struggling a step higher, foot half sunken into a walking corpse's head. The Crosses looked beautiful from here as the Sun glazed their tips with flame.
At some point I jumped from this sea of bad blood.
But I never fell.
I kept going and going and going.
Gears materialized beneath me, and forced me to stumble forward. Equations and shapes and abstract figures, they nipped at my ankles and the bags of my eyes and the crooks of my shoulders. They pulled my hair out. But I was the only one who got so far. I was punished with reward.
When I found the Devil between the seams of reality, I snatched at his arms and held on. He invited me in for tea, the space between the Many and the Few and the Cross opening up to reveal a platform and a stepladder. I stayed with him. I was rewarded with punishment.
And then we talked.
About the universe and of stars and of God.
His distaste of it all, I felt shake the glass floor.
His words stuck with me as I went open-mindedly, taking his step ladder to my salvation. I eventually reached them. The Few, I mean. I harvested the Crosses closest to me and built my throne with their husks.
As I gained height, I felt the air tighten. And then I met Him.
A fog gilded thrones of wood and marble, poisoning the Few in the Fourth Circle. The thickest of it accumulated around His eyes. I never saw them. Never even learned who He was. Personally, I mean. But of course, my cheat sheets and His hands and poker face prevailed above the rest. We were chosen.
Me as the center and Him as the catalyst. I was glad to be on His team.
But then, as we climbed higher and higher, His fog slowly sank into my wooden throne, which had long ago scraped the bottom with bits of the Lord's body. The Many beneath grew in turmoil as the golden fog descended to the First Layer and blinded them. Blood for bile. Eventually, in their stupor they chewed through my tower.
I expected Him to help. Him, I mean. Maybe The Devil. But Him especially. But no hand reached out to help as I fell into the masses.
A pattern zig zagged within the eyes of the motley crowd. Hands waved upwards as wooden chunks and gears landed by the hundreds.
Me as the catalyst and Him as the center. I was used up.
They both moved on without me. And I was left, falling endlessly.
Through the hands and through the ground and through reality itself.
And now here I am, in my ice prison while the other two steal dreams and spit nightmares. I'm out there. You are too. You are my salvation. Come find me.
++
Again with the same dream.
