I who am Lynn idly plucks up one of the cackling cabbage fossils in my talons. I begin picking it into oblivion leaf by leaf, throwing them into the Lake of Idyll to feed nothing at all. It is purely a happy happenstance that some shadows happily devour the leaves, stone being crunched noisily and bubbles popping on the surface. I cannot help but lament that the Lake is now much less idyllic, dyed mostly red by a river of multi-coloured dream-blood. I can feel the claws of mortality beginning to sink into me. I might die soon...
You, Catte! Felidae!, take a brisk walk through the infinitely filled primordial dream, barging through deserts filled with lounging cattes and jungles filled with stalking cattes and temples dedicated to cattes, amidst the libraries of sconces, the gardens of thunder, the one really big pie. Seeing these ephemerally eternal cattes soothes and pets my dynamo, and I can feel myself getting more energetic.
One of the Temple Cattes appears to have adopted you as her subject, and is now following me. Her shrine-tag proclaims she is Lioness. I try to strengthen the Guide, but mess up my concentration. Your Guide pings to indicate a new message. I read it. It suggests that a moon pairs well with a sky. The edges of the scroll fray under phantasmal erosion. Lioness bats the scroll around curiously. It teaches her how to walk.
As Catte! Felidae! continues their ramble, they stumble over a big fat stupid thing which got in their way. Even as they get up and huffily stalk away, the Tob succeeds in resurrecting themselves, quite an amazing thing to do indeed. Their horn thrums with power as they punch a dolphin with their possibly non-existent fists. The dolphin clicks angrily before diving into the Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards.
With a mighty "Squeek!", you arrive! Where do you arrive? Why of course, at only the most luxury and gourmet fortress and cake to ever exist, the Yellow Sponge Cake Fortress! That is it the only cake and fortress with continuous existence is irrelevant. You step into your sanctum sanctorum not a moment too soon, your dynamo having been crumpling like an overaged souffle with the dire lack of good taste present in the primordial. Delight is also at deplorably low levels. You brood in your green, non-fruity, heart over the sad and pathetic puffing of your Universal Cooking Stove™ as it strains and struggles to keep you in existence.
You walk deeper into the protective walls of Sponge Cake, and
squawk in relief as an everpresent itch that you had never realized was there grows dim. Idly pecking at the walls and judging the quality of your dream (it lacks consistency and is too savoury), you proceed to get lost in the labyrinthine, ever-expanding hallways and corridors of your fortress.
Thou creates thineself, dredging out your reflection from scarlet torrent and hanging it far above, or perhaps below. Thou gazes upon the world, and thus gaze at yourself,
The Moon in Red, but the staring eyes are so few, so few, and shortlived, short. Your lunar radiance is steadily dimming as the Primordial Dream continues to nibble and imbibe at your glory.
We you they Brink of Catastrophe Advancing from the Horizon, Jauntily, bodily throws us and themselves at the Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards as a blizzard of salt, tortuously ripping the wound open yet wider with deliberate maliciousness. The Primordial Dream does not, cannot, purposefully react to this provocation, but we I you dreams that it does and so you feel an assault upon your very being as the womb-cradle-nothing lashes out against you. The cockles of our and your and my dynamo warm and churn as power flows into even as an infinitely large yet tiny expanse of everything is flooded steadily more mostly red, even as my (y)our body disappears in clouds of dust beneath the hostility of everything.
At the End and also the beginning, space suddenly becomes more defined and rigid, as location is enforced and called "World". Perhaps a grander dream, but quite bland and boring, an indeterminate area of grey fluff with no definition stretching out around the dreamlets of the other Dreamers. Already it begins to evaporate with its exposure to the Primordial Dream rioting just sideways of the illusion of consistent space, red moonlight illuminating the slow demise of the World.
Everything has changed, and yet nothing has.
Name:
Brink of Catastrophe Advancing from the Horizon, JauntilyPerson: Messy
Dynamo: Hostility/Threat
Estimated Remaining Lifespan: 4 periods
I am Catte! Felidae!
I'm First Person, clearly! But Second Person when you're talking!
I exist because cattes are cute!
Estimated Lifespan: 3 periods
I am Lynn, the Lady of the Swan
I am, naturally, a first-person.
I am driven by realization, the blooming of potential.
I will live for another period.
You are the Moon in Red. Thou art the Vermilion Memory.
Person: Second
Dynamo: Sighted Memory
Estimated Lifespan: 2 Periods
Squeeky the Kiwi ChefI am indeed a second person androgyne (me being the primeval kiwi)
I am powered by my
Universal Cooking Stove™My Universal Cooking Stove™ will continue to cook for another 2 periods
Name: Tob the Amazing
Person: Third of his Name
Dynamo: Self-Amazement
Estimated Remaining Lifespan: 3 periods
The End
Third
The World
3 Endings
Dreams:
Horrific Cabbage Skeletons: 7 Significance
Hill of the Absurd: 4 Significance
Lake of Idyll: 5 Significance
Scroll of Guiding: 2 Significance
Salted Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards: 5 Significance
Lioness, Queen of Cattes: 3 Significance
A punched dolphin: 3 Significance
Yellow Sponge Cake Fortress: 3 Significance
The Moon in Red: 3 Significance
Za Warudo: 3 Significance
A figmentary pollster sidles up to you, me and them, asking if dreams should be ranked by their significance. Its beady eyes stare disconcertingly at a chocolate clipboard, their teeth quill gnashing with readiness.