A place for dreams.

Night’s call I awake to a calling. A wordless sound that echoes within me. I lay on my bed with shafts of light streaming through the blinds. Stretching out a hand and reaching for my phone, which sits on my side table, I check the time – 3:30am. These are the Silent Hours, when the world slumbers. Sitting up, I rub the sleep and tension from my eyes; I feel strange, out of equilibrium. A sensation of vulnerability flows through me. The calling continues. It seems as if someone or something is physically tugging at my mind. Grabbing a dagger from my glass cabinet, the dragon-pommel one with a ruby set in its eye socket (coloured glass of course), I leave my room and wander through the house. The blade feels reassuring in my hand. I had bought it years ago, from a gypsy lady at one of those Mardi Gras that was prevalent at the time. Stalking through the house I discover nothing out of place; I am alone. With a wavering resolve I decide to go outside and investigate ...

Pool of Psychosis. (Part two) I am alive. My torment of encasement continues. Throughout the night, I was constantly reminded of the intimate closeness of the crystal – this multi-faceted cage of pain. My body could not move and for an unknown reason, air was not a necessity. Claustrophobia had long since been replaced by an emotion that far exceeded my understanding of fear. All I knew was that it originated from a previously dormant part of my mind. The dunes taunting song did little to ease my thoughts. A pre-dawn sky finally appears; the light of morning vanquishes the darkness of night. A solar orb crests the horizon and as the rays shine on my crystalline form, it happens… a crack appears on the crystal covering my outstretched hand, a piece pops off and drops onto the sand below. The crack then descends the length of my arm and spreads out covering the entirety of my body following the trajectory of my veins. My cage shatters, splintering away from me in fractals of...