written for another site but belongs here too

I had the most disturbing dream last night. I had gone to bed at the slightly irresponsible hour of 2 am and managed to toss and turn for quite some time before I must have slipped into an unfathomably deep sleep. 

My dreams are often in black and white. There are times when colour is present but most of this dream was in the raw and much more sinister monochrome. 

I also regularly will dream about people that I do know in real life, however a lot of the time I will be with one person that will alternate between a plethora of other familiar faces throughout the dream. It will never occur to me that anything has gone amiss at any point when this is happening and only becomes apparent when I am conscious again. 

One final thing about my dreams is the regular horror aspect that they contain, mostly due to the fact that the realism is second to none. They are frighteningly life like, however it's reality with a twist... Things will always begin to go down hill fairly early on and then they will continue to get worse until I wake up screaming, which I frequently find myself doing.

The dream I had last night shared all of these traits. It felt like a full cinematic experience at times due to seeing things from third person, though I was in first person for a lot of the particularly horrible scenes as well. So much happened... And yet I don't feel that I can share any of it with anyone.

And that is 1533 characters about a dream that I never told you or anyone else a single actual detail about the story of. 

The Bicycle graveyard Part II

The goat chose that moment to let out another of it's frightened bleats. It got to me. Here I was in the basement of what must have been the old abandoned church after the horrific unprovoked attack by the five crazy people that had snuck up on us in the middle of the night. I started shaking and without any control over it a groaning sobbing noise started to sound in my ears. It took me several minutes and panicked cries from Jarmo before I even realised that I was the one making the sound. 

My eyes clouded with hot wet tears and they streamed down my cheeks. I only had a moment of instinctual notice to roll over onto my side before I was vomiting. It only made the shaking of my body that much worse. Bringing my knees up to my chest I held myself in a protective ball for a long time. Gradually I was able to hear the sound of Jarmo's voice yelling to me over the steady drumming of my own pulse in my ears. He was asking me if I was okay. He wanted to know what was happening but my voice simply wouldn't come. I wasn't ready to speak yet. 

There was the sound of metal striking metal as I brought my hand to my eyes to try to wipe away the tears and bring myself back under control. The worry of Jarmo's voice as he called to me over and over again made me feel guilty for the utter helplessness I was allowing myself to fall victim to. Only when my eyes tried to seek out the source of the clanking metallic noise did I see that I was manacled and chained to the wall behind me. My right wrist sported a thick metal band that was locked shut. I was being held prisoner. What did these freaks want from us? 

"Jarmo, it's okay. I'm okay now." My voice faltered, giving away that I had been crying. "I'm chained to the wall. Are either of you free? We need to get out of here!" 

There was clear relief in his voice when he answered. "Ashleigh, you need to calm down. We need to keep our heads if we're going to get out of this. Neither of us are free but we'll think of something. Look around you. Is there anything that you could use to free yourself? Anything that you could use to protect yourself?"

For the life of me I could not understand how he was able to keep calm and think so clearly. With the shakes returning to my body again I craned my neck and took in my surroundings, looking for anything at all that could prove useful. 

The floor below the stone bench I found myself laying on was bare packed earth. Sitting up and getting to my feet I checked underneath and all around. There was a wrought iron candle holder that I strained to reach, the manacle cutting into my wrist as I stretched to reach for it. My finger tips just barely touched the edge of it. I wasn't sure how useful it would be as it was nearly as tall as I was but it was better than nothing. Struggling and trying to make myself physically longer than I actually was, I finally was able to use my fingernails to get the slightest grip on it and I pulled at it. 

It fell to the floor with a mighty clang, which made me jump despite having been the one that had put this action in motion, and having watched it as it fell. The single candle it held extinguished, darkening my surroundings only slightly, and it rolled slowly across the floor. The goat pulled at his tether startled by the sound.

"It's okay Jarmo, I've got one of the long metal candle holders." I thought it best to explain the sound before he could call out to me again. Bending down I set to work trying to gage just how heavy the thing would be, and how useful while I was at it.

A sudden cease to the sound of the candle rolling along the floor startled me into looking up. A shining black leather boot rested on top of it. My eyes scanned higher and were met with the milky white gaze of the one that appeared to be the leader of the crazy group that had attacked and kidnapped us.

"Whatever do you think you are going to do with that?"

I stared up at him. The shaking returning instantly as a cold sweat broke out all over my body. An urge to vomit threatened again despite having nothing left in my system. I tried to ride the wave of nausea utterly unable to speak.

His deep voice boomed out, filling every hidden shadow with it's reverberations. "Please allow me to introduce myself, my dear. I am the son of darkness. I am the tunnel that has no light at it's end. I am your worst nightmares made flesh."

He bowed dramatically, never taking his cataract ridden eyes from my own. A twisted and devious smile that allowed his overly white teeth to shine in the candle light. Those eyes bore into my soul and created a fear inside of me that was so intense that it consumed me completely.

"I am the one known as Lucian."

TO BE CONTINUED

The Bicycle graveyard Part I

We had nearly made it. With just two more days to go on our three month long 'Bike the World' charity quest, all three of us were in high spirits. Hitting the road before the sun had risen earlier that overcast morning we were making good time. 

I blamed the hot shower and chance to sleep in a proper bed in the motel last night. After so many nights of sleeping in a tent at the side of the road, it did wonders for the body to get such minor luxuries. 

The only reason we had stayed in a motel at all was because we were now so close to our final destination and we needed to pick up the white doves that were going to be released in front of photographers as we reached the finish line. I had their travel basket on the back of my bike and could hear the occasional cooing from them as we went along on relatively flat terrain. 

Mark informed us that morning that the remainder of our journey was going to be fairly downhill or flat, and after three entire months on the road I was more than relieved at the news. I was in the lead today and Mark was taking up the middle. Jarmo had the extra weight of my tent and pack to contend with since I had to transport the doves now. He was the strongest cyclist out of our group though, so while he was last in our formation, he clearly wasn't struggling at all.  

The day had passed without any problems and I was enjoying the wind in my hair and the sun on my back as we sped along the virtually deserted road. "Ashleigh, let me take the lead. We need to make camp." It was Mark, and though I could have gone on at this pace for at least another hour, I knew that we were most likely already well ahead of schedule if he was stopping us for the day so close to the end. From the looks of things we had at least another hour of daylight so the chance to find a good place to camp for the night wasn't a bad thing. 

Over the course of this journey we had slept in more than our fair share of overly marshy patches that meant waking up in a puddle the next morning. There had also been a lot of spots that seemed perfect until bedding down and finding a tree root or a large rock in the small of your back. I vowed to find the most comfortable patch of ground possible tonight since my muscles were still content at the soft bed they had the pleasure of enjoying last night and I wanted to keep them that way.  

We were coasting now and slowing down when Mark held his hand up, signally to stop. As I pulled in beside him and Jarmo pulled in beside me we all looked to see what he had found by way of a campground for us. "Are you two game or is it too scary for you?" My eyes followed where his finger pointed beyond the trees. It was a run down old church with boarded up windows and from the look of it, it hadn't been holding services for quite some time.  

Not waiting for either of us to respond he dismounted and lifted his bike over his should before starting in amongst the young trees that nearly hid the building from the road. I checked to make sure that the basket holding the doves was secured properly before lifting my own bike and following him.  

I looked up at the high windows that ran along the side of the church that we were approaching. Some still held partially intact stained glass, though all of them were shattered and it wasn't possible to see what the full picture in any of them had been. We were approaching the right side of the church and the entire side yard was densely overgrown with these young trees which meant camping here was out of the question. there simply wasn't enough room to set up a tent.  

Mark led Jarmo and I around to the back of the church. It looked much clearer up ahead and I hoped that the ground would prove to be good for sleeping on. The doves fluttered inside of the basket as I maneuvered my bike around and through the last of the saplings and gently set it down again on the long soft grass.  

The spot was utterly perfect for tents. Lush grass and moss covered the ground which wasn't too wet and there wasn't a rock or tree root in sight. Jarmo and I got straight to work with building the tents while Mark started to gather firewood from the copse of trees that we had just come through.  

We were so used to this routine after having done it all summer long that it took only a matter of minutes before all three tents were up and a small camp fire was just starting to smoke. Mark busied himself with getting our dinner prepared while I fed and watered the doves. Jarmo checked the pressure in the tyres of our bikes, oiled the chains, and gave them all a quick inspection so that we wouldn't have any problems setting off again first thing in the morning.  

When we all finally had a chance to sit down around the fire and enjoy our dinner we caught up with each other. There wasn't much talking while we traveled and evenings tended to be our most social time of the day. The conversation tonight was dominated by ghost stories and comments about how sinister the old church looked. It's looming presence was actually very frightening. 

Once the sun had set a light rain started killing off the conversation. I thought it would be a good idea to take advantage of the early night to catch up on sleep since the tents were too small for all of us to fit inside of a single one, and with no lights and no conversation there really wasn't much point to being awake any later.  

Several hours must have passed before I was awakened by loud frantic yelling. I didn't even have a chance to reach the door of my tent before someone kicked me hard in the ribs through the side of the tent. I fell flat onto my stomach gasping for breath. I heard Jarmo yelp in pain seconds later as I tried to get back onto my hands and knees in my tent that was now collapsing all around me. Mark's voice rang out to my right and it sounded as though he was also struggling to get out of his own tent. 

Frantically I fumbled for the zipper and struggled to get it to open. When I did I realised just how hard it was raining and that we weren't alone behind the old abandoned church any longer. Strong arms grabbed me from behind before I could completely free myself of the tent. I turned in time to see a man with a thin stripe of a beard and sandy coloured hair. He pinned my arms behind me and lifted me free of the tent. 

Jarmo was on his knees near the battered remains of his own tent. His arms were being held on either side by a man with blond hair and a woman with long white hair. Both of them appeared to be dressed like they had just walked off the set of a Victorian themed horror movie. 

I had no idea what was happening and my fear was intense. I felt sick from the sheer unexpected turn of events. Who were these people? Where was Mark? No sooner had thought about him than another two of these strangers appeared dragging him across the ground by his feet. his left leg was being dragged by a petite blond girl that couldn't have been far out of her teens. His right leg was being dragged a tall man with long dark hair. Mark appeared to be unconscious, at least I hoped that was the reason he wasn't moving. 

The dark haired man dropped his leg and walked toward where Jarmo still kneeled on the ground. Without so much as a word he kicked him hard in the head so quickly that my eyes had trouble registering what had just happened. I screamed and the man pinning my arms behind me tightened his grip so severely that I thought they would come out of their sockets. In my surprised pain I let the scream die and he released the pressure just as quickly. 

The dark hair man casually strolled toward me and my knees went weak in my terror. "Well well well... What do we have here?" His voice was deep and threatening despite the smile that showed his glistening white teeth. He leaned close to my face, taking in my horrified expression and seeming to revel in my fear. His eyes were covered in a milky white film, like cataracts. I attempted to speak but my voice wouldn't come. Desperately my mouth opened and closed but I couldn't get a sound to come out. 

"Silke, Ulva, take care of their means of transportation." He stared at me as the words rumbled forth from his throat. His lips barely moved as he gave the order. The woman and the girl went straight to where our bikes had been parked and lifted them, the girl taking one on each shoulder and the woman taking just the one on her own. 

The dark haired man with the milky eyes turned and walked to where our gear was stowed for the night. He rummaged around and produced a fork from our dinner dishes and proceeded to open the basket that the doves here in. With movement that was again so fast that I thought my eyes must be playing tricks on me from the shock I must be in, he stabbed into the cage and withdrew one of the doves, the fork having pierced it's chest. The dove hadn't made a sound and died with just the tiniest flapping movement of it's wings.  

He placed the handle of the fork between with teeth as thought it were a rose, and walked toward the woman with white hair. In a mock romantic gesture he took her hand and went down on one of his knees briefly, before standing and withdrawing the shaft of metal from his own teeth and placing it between hers. The doves lifeless body hung limply at the side of her mouth and she smiled at him before turning and walking away with the bike she was still carrying. My eyes followed them until they moved beyond the corner of the church.  

I looked from the place that Mark lay on the ground to where Jarmo was. Blood was flowing from his temple and I saw it flowing clearly as the rain attempted in vain to rinse it away. I started to cry and as the tears came I didn't feel any better. Shaking and no longer in control of myself the dark haired man and the blond that had been holding Jarmo's arm earlier both approached me. My legs went weak and I fell a few inches before the man that was holding my arms could lift me back up. I was beginning to hyperventilate in my hysterics.  

I must have fainted just as those milky eyes moved in ever closer to my own again. I felt as though their image had burned into my retinas. It was as though I had been forced to stand there with them staring at me for hours, utterly petrified all the while.  

When I regained consciousness I could hear a strange echoing clacking noise. I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. I was in a room, it was lit by candles and there was a damp, earthy smell in the air. There were no windows and the candles only supplied a small amount of light in the thick darkness of the room. It appeared to be a cellar. Hearing that sound again I turned and saw a goat tied to one of the stone pillars that supported the ceiling. It was walking a few feet before stopping and shaking it's head. It seemed nervous. I could sympathise, I was more than just nervous. I was scared beyond my wildest nightmares. 

Where had that group of escaped lunatics gone? I couldn't figure out what we had done to merit the attack while we were sleeping. What did they want? Were they intending to rob us? Were they trying to get some sort of media attention for some cause? Did they know we were cycling for charity or did they think we were just camping behind the church to be camping? Looking around frantically I hoped that Mark and Jarmo were both okay. I couldn't see them anywhere. The goat made a strange bleating noise and it scared me so much that I let out a small scream, fearing it was one of the crazed group returning. 

"Ashleigh? Is that you?" It was Jarmo's voice calling out from somewhere nearby but I couldn't see him and the echo in the room made locating the direction the sound was coming from difficult. "Ashleigh? Are you okay?" There was real panic in his voice. It was the first time I had ever heard Jarmo panic about anything. He was normally the most laid back person in the group since he had seen just about everything is was possible to see out on trips like this. I doubted he had seen this before.  

"Jarmo, it's me. I'm okay. Where are you?" The sound of my own fear in my voice made me even more scared than I had been as it echoed back at me. "I think we're on the opposite side of the pillar from you. Mark is with me but he's out cold." Before I could answer I heard a faint moan. "He's coming to now!" Then more quietly I heard him ask. "Mark are you okay?" There were a few more moaning noises before I distinctly heard a semi conscious Mark answer that he was all right, though I doubted it based on how slurred his words sounded.  

TO BE CONTINUED...

black and white

I was carrying some shopping home the day that everything changed. It was pouring down rain, and I had more bags than I could really carry.  I had to set a few down carefully under the gas meter at the front of my house in order to get my keys out of my pocket and into the front door. As I opened it and fumbled for the bags, a little black blur sped between my legs and into the front garden. It was all I needed, my indoor cat had managed to seize the moment and escape, and there I was with sopping wet groceries in the pouring rain, trying to get inside where it was warm and dry.

He did this from time to time though it never ceased to anger me. I only kept him indoors because he had been an indoor cat all his life, and I lived too close to a major road to feel very comfortable about letting him out. Normally he would sit in my bedroom window and watch the birds landing in the tree in the front garden to eat the berries it grew. He would get irritated and I assumed that today he must have wanted wood pigeon instead of cat food.

Knowing it would take me ages to recapture him in the pouring rain I decided to give him a few minutes to hopefully change his mind about wanting to be outside at all. Sometimes the rain had that effect. I just hoped that this would be one of those times.

I made my way to the kitchen where my other cat greeted me warmly by rubbing her head and shoulder against my legs as I tried to get the now soaked groceries put away. I always referred to her as a self petting cat. She was more interested in petting herself against me than if I were to try to pet her myself. 

Once I had finished, I got the cat food and went to the door. I shook the box hoping that a reminder of food after a long day would be enough to save me having to venture out into the storm. I allowed my eyes to scan the front garden hoping for a sign of movement to give him away so I could perhaps make fast work of the task at hand. 

"Valafar! Here kitty!" I hoped that calling him would help. I had named him after a mythical demon I had read about, that took the shape of a lion. It seemed a suitable name for a black cat, and normally he would come when I used it, but of course tonight would be the exception to that rule. Defeated and not yet ready to go out into the downpour again, I gave the box a few more shakes only to hear my other cat cry next to her bowl, wondering just what it was that I was doing and why I wasn't there feeding her instead of shaking the food at the door.

"Well Tabbris it looks like we dine alone tonight." I was in the habit of talking under my breath to my feline friends for no real reason. Most likely just because I hadn't put on any music yet and therefore the house had that uncomfortable feel about it that only silence seemed able to create. 

In stark contrast to her brother; Tabbris, who I was now feeding, was solid white. I had named her after the angel of self determination, only because it sort of sounded like tabby and could therefore, in my mind at least, pass as a suitable cat name. She had her nose in the bowl before I could even finish pouring the food. I let her eat while I put a pizza in the oven for myself and then found my umbrella so that I could head out and find a most likely soaked and miserable Valafar.

I searched high and low, under every hedge and rose bush, and even scanned the trees in case he had decided to climb one but there was absolutely no sign of him. After twenty minutes had passed I gave up again because I knew my pizza would be done. 

As I sat eating it I started to worry that perhaps a neighbour had taken him in, thinking he had been abandoned. Not many of my neighbours knew I had cats since they were indoors all of the time. The panic of finding him dead on the road was enough for me to push the pizza away and get back to my mission to find him. I tried the back garden this time and no sooner had I opened the door but a soaking wet Valafar came cautiously out from under one of the bushes. Utterly relieved I called to him and picked him up to bring him inside.

I set him down at his bowl and poured some food in for him. He was still behaving very cautiously and I imagined that he had learned his lesson, seeing how waterlogged the poor thing was. He started to eat and then the strangest thing happened. Tabbris came into the room and got within a few feet of him before all of the fur on her back rose and she let out a growl. I had never heard her growl before and I don't think Valafar had either. He abandoned his dinner and ran to hide in the living room.

I followed him in. I needed to check my email on the computer in that room anyway, and seeing him cowering under the desk made me feel a bit sympathetic towards him, after being told off so blatantly by his sister after coming in completely saturated and scared. I reached underneath and set him on my lap, stroking him and trying to dry him off a bit and keep him warm. He relaxed for a little while but dug his claws in suddenly without warning, which caused me to forcibly remove them from my leg in surprise. I turned my head to see what it was that he was staring at and saw that it was Tabbris, her white fur nearly glowing where she sat under the lamp, and she was staring back at him angrily. She let out another low growl and Valafar jumped off of my lap.

He made his way to her and it was obvious he just wanted to get out of the room but she blocked the door. He attempted to run past her but she attacked him, hissing and biting into his fur. She tackled him to the floor and proceeded to use her back legs to dig at his belly while sinking her fangs into his neck. 

I jumped up from my seat and separated them. They fought in a play fighting kind of way from time to time, but never with the violence that she had attacked him with then. I was worried. I actually checked to make sure that it was definitely Valafar that I had brought back into the house, knowing deep down that it was, but second guessing myself for a moment anyway.

This behaviour continued for several days. Tabbris would attack, growl at, hiss at, and prevent Valafar from entering or leaving rooms at every opportunity. I wondered if maybe he had been sprayed by another cat or if he smelled of another animal that was bothering Tabbris. He didn't smell any different to me though. Eventually he began to become rather sulky and I started allowing him to sleep in my bed to save him from getting attacked in he night by his sister, who I had to save him from on several occasions now. Her attacks were getting much more violent and she had even managed to leave a tear in his left ear.

I spoke to a friend of mine about what had been going on because it was starting to really worry me. It was a particularly religious friend named Mary that had never been very happy about the names I had chosen for my cats to begin with. She claimed it was sacrilege. 

She told me that she believed with all her heart that by naming my black cat after a demon, I could very easily have made him susceptible to possession by that demon. That perhaps the reactions that Tabbris was having, had to do with knowing that all wasn't well. She warned me not to allow Valafar to sleep in my bed again because sleeping with a demon so close was the most dangerous thing I could ever think of doing.

I tried to reason with her that Valafar had shown absolutely no sign that anything was different at all. Her reasoning for why he was still being attacked was that Tabbris was able to sense something that I simply couldn't. She was after all named after an angel, and not just any angel but the angel of self determination. She argued that it was a sign and upon parting she informed me that she would pray for me and that I should endeavour to get to church myself. I assured her that I would do just that, only feeling slightly guilty at the lie, and completely baffled by the insanity that she could discuss so openly without fear of anyone thinking she was mad. A possessed cat? Honestly!

When I got home that evening I needed to break up yet another cat fight. I started thinking about it. Valafar had been out and I couldn't find him anywhere. He didn't come for food or when I called him. Where had he been? Why did Tabbris completely hate him since he came back? Was there any other logical reason that could explain any of this madness?

I decided that I would phone the vet in the morning and get an appointment to get Valafar checked since something obviously wasn't right and I wasn't sure what else to do. The idea of anointing him with holy water, or better still, getting the local priest to come and exercise him... It was a bit too much for me.

Still feeling slightly on edge about what Mary had said, despite knowing it was utter religious madness, I tried to figure out what to do about the sleeping situation. Normally I would let Valafar sleep in my bed since Tabbris kept attacking him. However the idea was in my head now. What if I was wrong and Mary was right? What if tonight would be the night that something terrible would happen?

I gathered Tabbris in my arms and her white fur stuck to my black shirt as usual. Normally her white fur was the main reason that I was happy for her to be a self petting cat. It meant less need of picking her fur off of everything I owned. I brought her into my bedroom and set her down at the foot of the bed before turning the light off. At least she wouldn't be able to attack Valafar and I wouldn't need to sleep with the potentially demonically possessed kitty.

I woke in the middle of the night with a weight on my chest. Opening my eyes in the darkness I saw two yellow eyes staring down at me. They were sparkling in the moonlight that came in from the window. "Tabbris, get off of me!" I brought my hand up to move her and that deep rumbling growl started in her chest. The same one that she used when she was near Valafar. 

Wondering if he was perhaps near the door, I attempted to move her from my chest where she sat staring at me. She hissed and without any other warning she attacked my outstretched hand, sinking her teeth into it. One of them had caught just under the fingernail on my index finger and I let out my own howl of pain as her front paws hugged my arm and her claws slid deeply into my flesh. She used her back legs to dig into the soft flesh of my underarm and I screamed and tried to get her off of me with my other hand. 

She was holding on for dear life, and in desperation, I sat up still fighting with her and trying to get her off of me.  Blood was streaming down my arm, especially badly from where her back claws had dug gouges into my inner arm. As I rose she still clung on, only now because of the angle she was hanging at, her back claws were digging into my side instead. My index fingernail came off with a fresh jolt of agony and she took the opportunity to latch onto my wrist, biting and tearing at the delicate flesh.

I was in shock. This couldn't be happening. It was a cat for Christ's sake! A little house cat that just happened to be named after an angel, whose normally alabaster white fur was now stained red with my own blood that she had forcibly drawn from my body. 

Grabbing the scruff of her neck I attempted to pull her off of me, as I had pulled her off of Valafar so many times now. Still she held fast to the searing pain that was my right arm. I rose from the bed and in desperation I opened the bedroom door and ran from the room, with the cat still digging into me with her claws and teeth every step of the way.

I got to the phone and my mind went blank. What should I do? Phone the police? I knew an ambulance would be necessary at the very least but in my wild panic I wasn't sure if I would get into trouble for phoning the police and informing them that I was being mauled by my kitty cat. 

In the end I phoned the police and tried to stay as calm as I could. I explained to the operator that I was being attacked by an animal and I needed an ambulance because I was bleeding very badly. I told him I was still under attack and that I was scared, then I gave him my address and I hung up the phone. I knew that if I confessed to it being a cat that they would only put it down as a prank call.

I continued to wrestle with Tabbris as I waited for the police to arrive. I couldn't bring myself to kill her and it appeared that nothing short of that was going to get her to let go of my arm. I was bleeding badly at this stage and knew I needed help soon. When I heard the sirens and the voices calling at my door I screamed for help with everything I had left. All of my energy went into begging for them to please help me.

When I woke up I was in a hospital bed. There were tubes in my nose and left arm, and my right side felt like it was both on fire and so itchy that I'd have given anything to make it stop. I looked around and heard my name being called before I saw Mary at the foot of my bed. 

I asked her what happened and she couldn't stop telling me how sorry she was for having been wrong. The agony I was in was preventing small talk so I again asked, a bit more sternly than I perhaps should have, just what had happened.

Valafar hadn't been the problem you see. Tabbris had been showing signs of mania that only manifested when she was in the presence of Valafar. She had been getting worse every day but had chosen to take on a smaller opponent until she finally lost whatever sense she had remaining the night I took her into my bedroom and she attacked me. Apparently she had done quite a good job as well, she managed to sever both my Radial and my Ulnar arteries. If I hadn't got help when I did, I would have bled to death in another few minutes.

When I asked her what happened to Tabbris she wouldn't answer me at first. I pushed, and within minutes I was actually yelling. A nurse rushed in to sedate me. As I was fading from consciousness I asked her to please tell me what happened to my cat.

Tabbris escaped, and though they are searching for her, she hasn't been found as of yet. She's even made the newspapers and signs are up all around the city asking for anyone that sees her to phone. Valafar is at the vet being tested to ensure that it wasn't rabies or some other disease and once he is given the all clear I would be able to take him home again. I slipped into unpleasant dreams as the news sunk in.

Walking home alone

I was walking home one night after a few drinks with friends. It must have been around four in the morning. Since it wasn't raining and I knew a bad case of the spinning beds would be waiting for me when I did get home, I decided the cool night air combined with the two mile walk would do me good. I couldn't have promised myself that I'd be able to endure the taxi ride alternative without needing to bail out so I said my goodbyes and started on my way.

The fastest way for me to get home involves walking along a towpath for about a mile of the journey. There are no lights and at that hour of the night, there are no other people either. I find it very peaceful normally and before long I found myself trying to think much bigger thoughts than my drunken state allowed for. It was while I was slowly sobering in the pre-dawn mist that I realised this and coming to a complete mental halt for a moment I allowed myself to physically stop as well.

I had just come out of the short tunnel that allows the towpath to continue under the motorway. So deep in thought, I hadn't even noticed my footsteps echoing or the lack of river flowing beside me until now that I was clear of the tunnel and back by it's side in the night air once more.

A tremendous splash startled me and I partially jumped and partially fell into the ditch beside the path away from the river. It was no fish jumping that had made that noise. I tried to see though the darkness and ever thickening ground mist to see what it may have been that caused that sound. I could only see about halfway out across the water and I tried in vain to get my blurry vision to focus so I could see if there were even ripples along the surface of the water or if my drunk ears combined with the increasingly scary surroundings had perhaps magnified the sound of something much smaller.

Hearing and seeing nothing I brushed the dirt off of the knees of my trousers and got back to my suddenly much less clumsy feet. Still feeling ill at ease I started walking again although my pace was now more than double the speed it had been before.

I was within sight of my house half an hour later and I still felt unsettled, but not for any reason I could put my finger on. I had heard a splash in a river. It could have been anything. The sobering effect it had on me was nothing to be laughed at though. I had been drunk and from the moment I heard that sound I was both petrified and it was like every fume of alcohol had left my body all at once.

I reached into my pocket and made a terrible discovery. I had no keys. I knew I had them while with my friends earlier because my key chain had a bottle opener on it which had proved useful. A light drizzle was now setting in and unless I broke a window I only really had one choice. I kicked a stone on the path in my frustration. As the rock hit the river with a much quieter splash I realised when I must have lost my keys and with dread I turned around and started back along the path to retrieve them, grumbling quietly to myself all the way.

As I rounded the bend in the river I was aware that there was a distinct glow emanating from the thick fog that was now soaking my clothes and skin just by walking through it. Still furious at my spate of bad luck I continued until I could hear the sound of the cars on the motorway. The glow I had noticed was different now though, it appeared to change from bright to dull with each step I took. The mist was so thick now that I couldn't even see the river though I knew it was merely a few feet to my left.

Suddenly there was a man in front of me, walking along the path in my direction. He looked like he was in shock. His enormous eyes and raised brow combined with the skyward direction his focus appeared to be trained on. I could see his teeth due to the way his mouth hung slightly open. There was a fine trail of spit dripping from his bottom lip.

Thinking I had come across another drunk merely using the path to get home just as I had earlier I took a step to the right to allow him to pass me, and behind my back I made fists in case they would be necessary. He stumbled and drifted along the path toward me, and like he didn't even see me he passed by. Relieved I started to take another step in my own opposite direction when a hand fell firmly onto my shoulder. I turned quickly and was fully ready to swing if necessary but hoped that it wouldn't be. I didn't need things to get any worse than they already were.

He brought his gaze down slowly and stared deeply into my own eyes. So deep that it felt as though he were looking through me at something much further in the distance behind me. "Yer best not ta head that way mister." His voice was deep and his words weren't slurred at all. "I'm just getting my keys. I dropped them near the tunnel earlier." His eyes never moved from staring at, but somehow past my own. He didn't appear to have heard a word of what I had said. His grip tightened on my shoulder. "Leave em, taint worth it. Nothings worth it." And with that he released his grip, turned, and continued along the path away from the spot where my keys most likely still were.

Feeling worse now than I had before about this backtracking along the river, I knew that regardless of the unease I felt I didn't have a choice in the matter. It was a case of finding the keys or sleeping outside in the rain. The option of breaking a window didn't even register any longer because I knew I would regret it. Taking a deep breath I started along the path again.

The fog continued to brighten and fade, brighten and fade, with every step I took. Less and less was visible through the ever thickening morning fog and the sun rising was only making matters worse. When it got to the stage that I could no longer see my hand in front of my face I knew that finding my keys was going to be even more difficult than I had thought. I was walking with my hands in front of me now, knowing that if I could just find the tunnel I would be able to feel around the ground for the keys.

I slammed my leg into something hard, that I had no way of seeing in the temporarily blinded state I was in. Stopping and immediately bending down to rub at my leg and assess the damage I took advantage of having already bent down to see what it was that had surely bruised my left shinbone.

The culprit had been a very large axle that still had one enormous tyre attached to it. Knowing it hadn't been there earlier I stepped over it wincing a little as my weight shifted onto my sore leg. I took another few cautious steps, wary of the changing colours of the fog. Intense blue light would blind me one second and the intense white of the fog the next. I realised I could see just a little in between the two extremes and as I approached the tunnel I saw that more than just the axle of a lorry now littered the towpath just in front of the tunnel.

The entire broken form was there, laying halfway across the path and partially submerged in the river beyond. Looking up at the bridge I realised the blue flashing fog effect was merely the emergency services vehicles who obviously had quite an accident on their hands. I could see now that the lorry must have broken the front axle and fallen off of the bridge over the river and I thanked the powers that be for having me out of here before it happened.

The windscreen was just in front of me and I leaned forward to see inside of it, wondering if I could assist in some way since the flashing lights were all concentrated on the overpass and didn't appear to have made it down to the towpath as of yet. I leaned in and tried to time trying to actually see anything to that fleeting second between the flashing blue lights. I cupped my hands to the sides of my eyes and pressed against the glass and it worked wonders.

For there in front of me, staring into my own eyes and appearing to look beyond them were the eyes of the man I has mistaken for a drunk only moments ago. He looked exactly as he did on the path and I wondered how he possibly could have gotten back into his truck so quickly without passing me. I tapped the glass and tried to figure out how I could get inside, or how he did for that matter. The angle that the vehicle was laying at appeared to make it impossible. I looked again and he still stared at me, through me even. And I noticed he hadn't moved; had not so much as blinked, and despite his face being close to the glass it wasn't fogged as it should have been from his breath.

In a panic I took a few steps backwards trying to figure out just what this meant. Was the man dead? Had I honestly seen a ghost along the path? I looked up at the overpass and saw the hanging remains of the guard rail, having been no match for the lorry. I only wanted to find my keys and this night just seemed to be getting worse. I vowed to take the taxi next time I went for a drink.

A terrible screeching sound hit my ears then and I had only a moment to look upwards and see the white ford escort falling directly above me. I could only look up into the startled faces of the two teenagers in the front seat as they came closer. I screamed and tried in vain to put my arms up and protect myself, knowing I didn't have enough time to move out of the way. I felt the warmth of my own blood pouring down my legs as the front of the car crushed my abdomen against the lorry.

The first step towards getting somewhere...

Apparently, it's to decide that you aren't going to stay where you are. Now that we've made our decision let us commence. 

After being stuck in a loveless, blog-less, empty world for more years than I care to admit, I'm back. I have had the pleasure of some new experiences which I have learned a lot from. The years that have passed I would like to think, have aided in maturing my personality like a fine wine, or maybe a smelly cheese. And then there is that unquenchable anger and frustration and subsequent utter disassociation, as a result of those two things, with my fellow man. I have no doubt it will give me some interesting new topics that I hope to be mildly entertaining for anyone that finds this of their own accord.

On that note I will take on the topic that has me spellbound at present. Fiction. 

People are fictional when you really think deeply about it. By that I don't mean that some great playwright in the sky has determined our destiny making us but puppets on strings to act it out. No, I mean that no one is anything more than what they want to be, or feel that they have no choice but to be. We wear the mask that we want the world to see as our face or we allow someone else to put a mask on us, however we all play the part. 

There is plagiarism of our personalities and lifestyles; it's all someone else's work. Though it may be but a tiny sliver of someone else that you took, you took it nonetheless. We take from it all and we create our fictional characters. Ourselves. We believe we are unique and yet here we are all playing the same part and believing that we are bound by those same invisible stings.

One would consciously decide if they were going to approach a situation confidently. They would then become that character that they want to be, willingly giving themselves over to this fiction. They may give themselves a pep-talk in advance. They would then act within a specific template of patterns for body language, tone, and style. They are not the person that they are pretending to be during this performance though. 

Now what has my head spinning is this... Then who are we really? Who are you? Who am I? When all other influence is stripped away who are we? If there isn't anyone to impress? If there's no one to feel threatened by? If there is nothing else at all, who are we all really? Do we have the same basic needs then? Do we necessarily need anything that we pretend we need then? And what happens if we don't get it?

Oh, to want and to need... To like and require... Will anyone ever be able to understand the difference? I sincerely doubt it, most likely because someone else doubted it before me... and then I stole it.