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It was night. And it was a dream.
He was standing in a tunnel, facing forward. It was black, and it was long,
infinite tunnel. He had a feeling. It was freezing. Not like cold, but like a fear that
nails your feet to the floor, closes from all sides, and you are afraid to look behind you
because you are afraid to look away. A tunnel was not visible, but there was front and
there was back. He was looking in front.
A slow, but a continuous flow of pressure was moving at him. It was inevitable. The
word Inevitable froze in his mind like a movie frame on pause. It moved. On him. Slow but
true.
Vampires and werewolves have personality, they Want to kill. The tunnel
didn’t. It just was. It did not want, or did not try to do a horrible thing to him,
but it just would. It was Inevitable.
He started to run. Run, run backward. And the spine was feeling cold, as the
Inevitable closed in on him, slow but true. Slow but True. Run, run, run, he thought, as
the blackness in front was same as the blackness behind. And slowly the pressure was
getting to him. It just did. No matter how fast he ran, he was not moving. No matter how
much he tried to scream, he was silent. And fear, fear was behind him, licking his spine,
hugging his chest, and making it impossible to breathe. He didn’t feel himself, only
the feeling of Inevitable. It just Was.
It was day.
He was walking the road. Sun was happily shining into his face, and he was moving.
A dream didn’t go away. He never had any dreams, only occasionally slight pieces,
like a torn movie, of some things, mostly he never remembered them. But this was a dream.
It was a dream that squeezed his mind hard. His pulse was still ninety, like a dying clock
that suddenly had it’s last moments of work.
His name was Mr. Karabovski.
It was next year.
Mr. Karabovski was walking down the street, thinking, smiling to the world, happy
as he could be, which wasn’t much. Birds sang in the trees, and dogs howled across
the street at each other. It was a perfectly normal day. Sun was shining on a row of
houses, a row that looked like a reflection by two mirrors between which a house was
placed. White, neat, small, enough to fit someone like Mr. Karabovski inside. Inside
wasn’t much either. But something, some tiny change worried Mr. Karabovski as he was
glad and happy, and his mood took a swing down the Y-axis, gradual, but down. Suddenly he
noticed what was wrong. He was standing on his doorsteps.
The problem that he noticed was not that he was standing on his doorsteps, but that
there were no doorsteps. It was a flat nice pretty lawn, obviously mowed by one of those
identical creatures living in those identical houses, to which Mr. Karabovski is a part
of. Or rather, was a part of. He was there, his nice suit was there, his nice lawn was
there, all the defining characteristics of those creatures who lived on that street were
there, except one. His house.
He thought back… It was there last month, it was there last week, and it was
there last day. It was not here today, and it bothered him. In fact he just stood there,
stupefied, not knowing what to do, staring at a perfect square of grass where he used to
live, and gradually coming to a conclusion that he went mad.
The street was long and straight and houses were the same. The sky was blue. It was
darkening, and darkening fast. Mr. Karabovski looked crazily at the sun, or rather where
it was a moment ago, but now it was not there. He looked down the street and saw his
dream. He was in a tunnel.
Like a truck the Inevitable moved. It was black. Purple blobs moved and swung in a
mad pattern, playing with each other like a dozen of snakes and ink blobs, dancing
forward, toward him, faster, and faster, but infinitely slow and True.
He woke up.
He thought it was real. For a moment he thought a while, and then he walked outside
of his house. Sun was shining at his face, and early morning’s light was playing in
trees and roofs of the houses. He, as usual, prepared to go to work, it was not far, and
he walked with his briefcase down the street.
Down the street… He tried to think for a while, where he was going. He
didn’t know it at the moment, but he forgot that he was going to work. Not that he
forgot, he never actually went. He was just walking. He stopped. He looked. A street was
darker than he thought it should be. He turned around. Somehow everything was the same. He
said something, but couldn’t hear himself. He tried to run, but couldn’t feel
his feet. He was on a street, where houses were slowly becoming dark, and black, and he
saw Forward, and he also saw Backward. He was afraid. He felt the sensation of cold in his
back, and he ran.
He woke up.
He didn’t know if he actually did wake up. He was afraid to get up. He was
looking at the door. It was white. Slowly it was fading, becoming black, and becoming a
cube, then a wall, then a tunnel. He couldn’t think, he was shaking with fear, for he
saw that something was out to get him, and it was not alive. It was the Inevitable. He
couldn’t see why he was running, for he couldn’t feel himself, and he knew it
didn’t matter. He screamed, but couldn’t hear a sound, couldn’t see a
thing.
He woke up…
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Sun Sun, sun is shining in my face Can you look at the light? I feel warmth on my back I feel warmth and I live I can run I feel good |
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