In my dream I followed the perspective of a man and woman soaring in the skies on a broomstick, I knew neither individual in this couple from anywhere in real life on wakeful introspection so I wonder where they're from, or if they're a construction wholly out of the memories of strangers I've since forgotten. The land they flew over was remarkable, with an arid plateau carved through with deep crevasses formed from the toiling of old rivers. These deep carvings had all the makings of something sinister, but had instead been populated into these great bustling valleys of excited life, accelerated by the abundance of freshwater and mineral rich silt deposited by so many aeons of erosion. This detail was carefully explained by the man, much as a flight attendant would remark on the features of the land below "And on your left you will see..."
The valleys of life, in colours of greens and yellows set upon a rich copper foreground upon a golden sunlit expanse was rather fanciful, populated by such trees as could not be described in any ecosystem known to man. Large lakes were passed, unfortunately one could not see beneath the tranquil waters, so their mysteries remained their own. Other places were skimmed over that I now regret I cannot remember, having failed to impress on my conscious mind their rather featureless detail.
The most memorable scenery by far has to be towards the end, where the fanciful terrain gave way to a low lying marsh - a horrible bog built up by so much dead and decayed things, set upon a deep flat trench of disgusting effluence that could neither be said to be fully liquid nor solid. What dense vegetation was set upon this horrible land was a hardy species of plant that refused to die, and in an environment where all predators of a plant or animal nature were devoid, the whole diseased bog was dominated by innumerable flies. So horrifying was it, that by the minds of the couple, they grew niggling fears at the back of the mind of what should occur should they find themselves stranded or crash landed in the bog - as a pilot had before. The flies' dominance was unrealistic, monstrously so, to say they were as stormclouds of rain over the ocean would be to understate their omnipresent aerial dance, they were a black mist rolling everywhere throughout the bog. They made very little sound that could reach the couple flying above, nothing more than a slight buzz, of the kind you would hear if you dropped a marble onto a glass table and captured its last audible impacts with the surface. The sound was neither loud enough to grow disassociated and numb, nor quiet enough to ignore or convince yourself it did not exist. The broomstick flew too low at one point and both of the couple had to swat away some flies, the lady actually managed to catch one fly between her neck and the palm of her hand, writing under her grasp as it unexpectedly did not splatter dead - merely squishing like a ripe grape under the pressure. Upon releasing it from her palm it dropped far below, far behind them.
A slight panic set into the couple as they looked below and the rolling fogscape of carrion insects somehow took notice of the two, and for a moment their dance had ended, replaced with a hungry intelligence that seemed to guide the entire immediacy towards them in one body, with one tendrilous vanguard flying upwards in one large blanket of oppressive flies. Their intentions were no doubt to feed on the falling flesh of dead things that occasionally fell from above (sky cows and such), and they were not too concerned if you weren't dead yet, you did not want to linger on for you would gradually grow weaker, iller and insane from the sheer weight of insects, the inability to run from them in the bog. Best not too, to consider what crawled within the bog. The couple accelerated and rose higher in altitude to avert this disaster, and the man remarked to her that "we" have not destroyed it, because this ruinous waste is nonetheless vital for the ecosystems beyond, where there is a vibrant marsh further ahead and the effluent waters (filtered through so much rock and the processes of time and living things) end up perhaps even to the pristine plateau with its remarkable valleys of Edenic life.
The dream did not have a concise end, merely a steady realization that if I wished to escape these flies for sure, I need only open my eyes. At once I did, and I shudder to imagine the hell if I could not.
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Topic: The Dream Thread (Read 512667 times)