• My Dream

    Everything is burning, like a plague cast upon the land in hatred and blood. The fire scorches the land black-a heat so intense, defining the hate portrayed. I stand amidst the silent, flaming chaos; a long sword rest coldly upon my left shoulder, held loosely betwixt my fingers, as blood adorns the blade… shining wetly in the rising sun.

    Before me lie the remains of my friends and rivals, blackened and ash. The flames begin to define their sound, as they loudly roar like dragon around me. I stare at my comrades, their empty eye sockets and gaping mouths ask me a question… a question I twist to ask myself…

    Did I do this?

    I cannot remember any details, I woke here. I can’t recall how, nor why, yet here do I stand. Am I a human… a demon? No, neither, just a soul tainted with the blood of everyone I can no longer remember. Blood seeps into the fabric of my clothes, binding with the thread, it begins to become my flesh and hair. The flames now grow closer, they desire to conquer he whom created them, but I turn, and face them.

    My look of apathy makes them stop, burn in place… slowly I close my eyes, and then I wake. Everything is as it was before. Normal. Quiet. Complete.

    As I fully wake I ask myself another question…

    My dream…

    Does it mean something?

    My brother's not mine