This world was not the world that I knew.
I awoke to the taste of metal; that familiar twang that assaults the palate when one scrapes a utensil against their teeth mid-bite; the rancid, sour, cold flavor dancing within the confines of my mouth. The taste was so potent that I forced my lips away from it, desperate for a retreat from its overwhelming strength, and here I became dimly aware that my push had brought me upwards—that I had been lying face down. I brought myself to my knees in a daze, nothing more than a bundle of cloth and flesh, the rest of my senses absorbing my environment. As I gazed down I saw that my pillow had indeed been iron; a black grated platform, as solid and dark as shadow, as firm as bone. When I stood—my legs were operating independently from the rest of my body, for I had not told them to do so—the change in depth led me to believe that I was suspended in mid-air, and the myriad of colors that scorched my corneas only seemed to corroborate this notion. The sky was not blue, as in my world. It was streaked with violet and emerald, expansive yet somehow compact, an underlying shimmer of gold dancing near and far in between the pinkish clouds. It was here, at this point, that my location dawned on me. This was a dream, and yet it felt like a parody of a dream, a fragment of one even; like what a dream would cling to upon awakening from its own subconscious venture. As I stood still, supported on the metal, square structure, I became aware of how I was dressed, and I rolled my sleeves down instinctively. I could not recall what I had fallen asleep in, but I knew that it was not this; it was a long sleeved sweater, light and dark, just flowing over the worn and torn sweatpants that cascaded over my grimy sneakers. Analyzing my attire, another revelation dawned on me, brought about again by my own vision. Even in my dream, it seemed, the laws of the real world reigned. I was not, as I'd previously assumed, suspended in the purplish sky that enveloped me. The black platform was large enough to hold two, maybe three of me comfortably, but to my right there was an ascending set of stairs—all black, all metal. The wide gaps in between them suggested that they were designed for long strides, but the sequence of steps went high, maybe twenty or so, before turning sharply, and squinting my eyes I saw that they led to another platform, and so on. When I turned to my left, a matching set of steps could be seen descending, and as I inched myself towards them, I saw that they descended into a sharp turn, into a lower platform, and so on. Of course, it took me but a moment to familiarize myself with the scene. Examining a black, structural pole that loosely held the staircase together, I saw that I was in the middle of the journey—the spiral led up into nothingness, nothing but more clouds, and the spiral led downwards likewise. I scratched at my weedy hair as I tried to make sense of it all, for dreams, as I knew, were but reflections of reality. And yet I could not delineate to myself the situation that I was in now, suddenly unable to recall those moments before I'd risen with the taste of the elements in my mouth. Images and words swirled within my mind, but they were fleeting, a remnant of what once may have been coherent. Alas, if only I'd thought of it upon just rising! It had all left me now. I stood on the black platform uneasily, a sturdy figure, glancing both above and below with a mixture of curiosity and frustration. It was then that I heard the clinking and clanking. The sounds carried a rhythm to them, a melancholy ostinato that stabbed at my eardrums with each sequential tone. I looked up first—gazed briefly at the towering steps and endless series of platforms above—and then turned my attention lower. Though these steps and connecting platforms were equally repetitive, it was in this direction from which the sounds were coming. And then, the shape. Emerging into view, maybe two platforms down—forty steps total, if I'd counted right, and I could always be trusted to do so—a shape had entered my field of vision. I rubbed at my eyes with my sweaty fingers, perplexed, for it was too tall and lanky to be human, but too human to be anything else. Ascending the stairs one clink and clank at a time was a creature unlike any I'd seen or dreamt before. As it slowly came into focus I eschewed the immediate fear that punctured me, curious to see what I had concocted, for I reminded myself that it was my own dream, and thus limited to the sum of my experiences. The loping creature was eight feet tall, and this height was becoming more prominent with each upward step. It was thin, and greying, with a long, gaunt face and straggling white hair that may have been snow. Its methodical steps were brought about by bandy legs, as long as its low hanging arms, each of which ended in fingers that curved into claws. It's torso was bleak and colorless, and slimy—skin seemed to be peeling from each extremity—and it bore the sunken visage of lethargy, or listlessness, in some ways appearing as though it too was dreaming. It was a frightening thing, but as it neared me, it proved to be far from active. I caught a better glimpse of its face as it moseyed by, and its bright red lips; the only distinguishable color present. It sauntered past with these lips moving slightly, as though mumbling to itself, and I caught just the fleeting glimpse of its pale eyes as it reached my platform, towering above me, its dangling arms just avoiding me as it went. I caught sight of blackened feet, pressed myself to the rail, and allowed the vile thing to walk by me undisturbed. It appeared not to notice me as it went. I stood in awe at its malaise as it began the upward trek, now catching sight of its back, which was peeling the most of all. Horrified, yet still curious, I caught myself moving forward a step, then moving back abruptly. This was such a limpid dream that I could not help but feel unnerved by the immense detail that captured my senses, and I feared that progressing through it would only serve to prolong the venture. Whatever was at the top of the stairs, only the putrid being above would learn. I resigned myself to await my awakening. The metronome of the monster's steps lulled me back into equanimity, clink, clank, clink, clank. As its steps faded away above me, the sight of it disappearing from view completely, I delved once more into the confines of my memory, saddened by what little I was able to recover. What had I been doing before my slumber? I felt as though a lifetime of events were swirling about my consciousness, and though invisible, I was still able to glimpse them with only the fiercest of concentration, only to let them loose from my grasp again. But they were wrought with emotion. Yes, I could not see what had precluded this trek into the corridors of my mind, or smell, or hear, or taste, but I could feel it. It was a sinking feeling in my insides, a forceful current of distraught waves throughout my being, a thorough hopelessness that hung over my head like an incessant weight, dangling behind me, but for the life of me, I could not pinpoint what I'd lost hope in. All manner of experience was wiped from my memories, yet the emotions that gave them substance remained; it was that odd sensation of knowing something without quite knowing why or how I knew it, or why it was important to be known. Clink, clank. Clink, clank. The wretched noise had surfaced again, and this time I looked up, batting away the writhing in my throat, intrigued as to what would send the creature back down. But the music was not from above. I gazed over the rail once more, down at the metallic stairs and the platforms below, and saw another shape emerge. I awaited the abomination in silence, somewhat eager to see what my imagination was to bring me this time, for I hardly thought that it could be as grotesque as what had greeted me already. It came into view with the same saunter as the previous incarnation, and here I saw that it was another of the same sort, identical to before! The creature climbed slowly, clink, clank, and as it approached me this time I studied it carefully, determined to learn more of whatever group of beings was marching to the top of the staircase. I allowed myself to examine this one in a more scrupulous manner, more attentive now to the characteristics that I would assume specific to whatever these things were. Its feet were also black, but upon further investigation I saw this to be the product of some terrible accident, for it appeared to have once worn shoes, now melded into its scaly flesh. I gazed upon the arms more closely now as well, and saw wounds upon them, carved divots and minute holes of a most peculiar fashion. And this one too had the wispy hair and dead eyes, and the rosy, moving lips. A certain chill passed over me as it went by, in the same fashion as its predecessor, the clinking and clanking irking me greatly as it too ascended beyond me. I stood watching, now moving around my platform somewhat cautiously, head turned skyward to watch its laborious climb. This one also disappeared from sight slowly, the notes of its march dying off into the pink and green clouds. I stood, thoroughly bewildered, wondering as to why this dream was carrying on in such a tedious fashion. This machination of my mind was worse than any before it, I was sure, though of course, these instances eluded me completely, and I found myself growing frustrated now, not at all pleased with my lack of control over the situation, and more so, my inability to recount my doings prior. I wanted to awaken. I was aware that I was dreaming, and I wanted to awake at that very instant, to dream a different dream, a dream that allowed me to remember who I was. It was after several long moments that the clinking and clanking returned, almost mockingly, though I was certain that this perception was of my own device, for it was unchanged from before. I knew to look down first this time, and finally, was not disappointed, for my prediction proved astoundingly correct. A third being was climbing, in the same vein as the previous two, and this time I actually rushed down to meet it halfway, my steps too long at first, requiring adjustment to the placement of the metal steps. I met it in between two platforms, at the mid-way point of the stairs, and when I gazed upon it, I saw first the markings in its arms, and the disfigurement of its feet, and I knew that my dream had played on me a trick that only dreams could—it was the same beast as before. It had ascended to me twice now—no, three times!—in the same manner each time, exiting my view above and returning to my view from below, possible only in a place where the word had no merit. It again moved by me, the Climber, its gaze completely forward, each step a tired clunk of an echo. I did not fear it now, I realized, for any and all semblances of reality had diminished for me, and I knew that here it could do me no true harm. So I walked with it, by its side, a little ahead, given my more lively gait, up to my original platform. And then I walked with it a bit further, still soaking in its bizarre appearance, up to even the next platform, and then I engaged it. "What are you?" I asked it. The Climber said nothing—or at least, nothing to me. It continued to mumble to itself, however. "Excuse me," I said, a little forcefully, and I actually (and yes, I actually did this, for as aforementioned, I carried no fear with me now) grabbed at its slimy shoulder to halt it. I did not impede its movement, though it did acknowledge me as my fingers slipped from its greasy form, turning its head down to me for a fraction of a second before turning back, still mumbling, never breaking stride. "What are you?" I asked again, and when it failed to answer me, I went a different route. "Who are you?" I asked. The Climber did not look at me, nor did it stop its pace at all, though it did speak. "I am Ego," it said. It's voice was not as I'd anticipated—not raspy or airy, or course, but possessing a cold, stannic quality, somehow both nonchalant and determined all at once. "Ego," I repeated, and I made to introduce myself, though my own name escaped me at the moment. "Where are we, Ego?" The Climber offered me no reply, only resuming its mumbling, and I was so close to it now that I could enumerate five sluggish syllables from its pitiful mouth, though I could not identify them. Restless and feeling almost offended by its lack of support, I changed my question once more. "Where are we going?" I asked it. "To the top," replied the Climber, who called himself Ego. I now threw my hands up in anger, though who I was angry with, I did not know. My dream had offered me only this one companion to aid in escaping it, and he was proving to be utterly useless, though it was a familiar useless, and even I didn't understand this most unique of sympathies. "Why are we you going to the top?" I asked. This time, I was given nothing. "Ego," I started firmly, "what's at the top?" "Don't know," said the Climber, still not breaking its stride once—we'd walked three platforms worth of stairs now, though this was difficult to prove even to myself, I realized. "Then why are you going there?" I asked. "Don't know," the Climber replied, and at this my indignation surfaced fully. Faster than the creature, I raced ahead of it, making my own music, this music more vibrant and emboldened. I gazed back only once at the Climber, who did not deviate in the slightest from his pattern of walking, and ran, two steps at a time, turning sharply at each platform, higher and higher, until Ego's dull clunking was gone completely, replaced fully by my own torrid notes of ascension. I climbed higher and higher, and realized that it felt good to be going somewhere, even if it was only in a dream. I climbed and I climbed, and when I turned yet another platform, I saw a figure walking ahead of me, slowly, methodically, clinking and clanking- "Ego?" I asked, almost breathless, and I now slowed my pace down to match the Climber's own. I walked by its side, took in its facade, and saw that it was indeed the same creature as before, the creature that I'd left behind, now ahead of me. For the first time since entering the dream I felt panic, though it was a slow, dawning panic that crept into my thoughts at sporadic intervals, rather than bombarding me all at once. "Ego?" I asked again, with some level of trepidation, as I looked at it from the side. "Ego, why can't we reach the top?" "Don't know," the Climber said, as flat as before, and then it returned to its indiscernible mumbling. I gazed skyward, and came upon the realization that it was the same view granted to me as in all other gazes. "Why don't we go down?" I asked aloud, and I did not know if I was raising an inquiry, or making a request. "Climbed too far already," replied Ego. "Closer to the top." I gawked at the creature as it continued to climb, faintly aware that I pitied it more than anything else. And yet, I could not pay it any mind, for the Climber was resigned to Climb, and I, the Dreamer, to awake. And so I turned away from it, not bothering to look back this time, and I descended, as I'd done once before to meet him. I ran down the metallic stairs, the rhythm of my steps now void of any beauty, only frantic retreat, I went down, my hand sliding about the rail, down, down, down, until- "Ego!" I called, as we met on the platform once more, his mumbling lips and absent eyes unchanged from before. "Ego!" I called desperately. "How long have you been climbing?" "Long time," the Climber replied. "Long time." "Why can't you stop?" I asked, my voice now shrill and betraying of the fear that enveloped me. Ego offered no response, instead loping by, and I followed after him now again, not caring in which direction I was going, eager only to learn more about this cursed predicament, this oddity of an experience that seemed to offer no potential ending. I grabbed hold of his slimy shoulder again, peeling the grey skin off with my nails, and this time, Ego did not even look at me as I latched on to him. "Ego, why don't you just stop!?" The Climber stared ahead blankly. "Can't," he answered. "Why!?" "Don't know. Just can't." I turned away from him, desperate to keep the calmness that I knew was the key to my freedom. My dream had tried to purloin my options from me, and intimidate me, but I would not allow this to happen. I hurried forward, away from the Climber once more, for what I knew would be the last time. I was finished with this world, this dream, whatever it was, and ready to return to what I knew. I ran upwards, climbing further and further, accelerating more and more with each heavy step. I waited until the monotonous clinking and clanking of Ego was entirely out of earshot before making my decision. Up the sets of repetitive steps I went, until a platform came into view, black and square and metal, like all the others, but this was the one that I had decided upon. I was leaving now. I ran up this final set of stairs and did not care at all to look at the endless sets above, instead running straight into the rail of the closest platform. I lunged; leapt over the secure bars of iron and into the sky, and I felt free as I danced through the clouds, dancing to the lack of music, a beautiful, flurry of movements that accompanied me as I fell down through the colors, the colors that I realized now were not so strange after all, for I could scarcely remember them any other way. I closed my eyes in anticipation for the moment that would come, that had to come, that needed to come- I landed, and my feet buckled beneath me. I didn't even need to open my eyes to see the ominous truth, though I did so anyway. I was on a black grate of a platform, and as I pulled myself up the rail, I understood that I had failed. I had landed back on the staircase. Clink, clank, clink, clank. I struggled to a firm, upright position, the fear that had bubbled up inside of me prior to my hurdle now slowly transitioning to a deep, unrelenting sadness. I watched as Ego climbed up to me, all but counting his steps, and I began to climb with him, by his side, unwilling to acknowledge my failure aloud. Ego was still mumbling when I hurried ahead of him, just a few paces, my heart pounding in my chest, and then I turned to face him as I climbed upwards with him, ready to ask the question that I knew—somehow—that I had dreaded asking the entire time. "Ego, why can't I wake up?" The Climber kept its pace, but finally bore its barren eyes into mine. "Wake up?” he asked, turning his head to the side in apparent confusion. “Haven't you already?" I gave a hiss of fury, then launched myself from him with a heave, running upwards once more, though for the first time—or so I thought, though the feeling seemed so familiar—I did not know where I meant to go. I merely sped away, away from the fiend, away from the beast that my mind had paired me with, desperate to escape what I knew was not my dream, but must have been his, for only there could I be trapped. I climbed, higher and higher, platform to platform to platform, until a long period had passed, until I realized, between gulps of precious air, that I'd finally left him behind. I had out-climbed the Climber, I knew, for its villainous clinking and clanking had finally subsided entirely, leaving me to the silence of the revolving staircase, which I took to be the first true sign of progress. Ego was behind me now, too far behind me to ever greet me again, and already I knew that I was close to the top, that it was in my grasp. Yes, I could even see it, in a way, for as I climbed the stairs—slower, now, as I'd tired myself greatly in my escape—I could see that the platform ahead was different than the others. A shape was situated upon it—an aberration—somehow both flat and bulky, nothing more than a barely visible mass of darkness at this point, but that was something different still, and this gave me hope. I meandered up the stairs at a more controlled pace than before, eager to catch my breath. I wanted to wipe the sweat from my eyes, for it was tickling my brows obnoxiously, but found my arms too heavy to do anything other than hang, as heavy even as my legs, which felt as though they were ready to completely collapse once they reached their destination. I managed to climb to the platform in my sights, and saw, to my great amusement, that the shape on the metal was of no great significance—a mere bundle of cloth and flesh, unrecognizable and unmoving. I walked by it indifferently, treating it only as yet another sign of my eventual success. When I reached the top, I knew, the dream would end. I was going slower now—very slow, even—but I did not allow this to deter me, for I knew that I could not stop now, as my head sank into a single, fixed stare, too aching to look above at what was left of the climb. I had passed Ego, had passed the smudge on the stairs. I was further now than ever before, just a few more steps, I knew, and though I could not see what was ahead, these thoughts kept my gait in place. It was just a few more steps to the top, I told myself. Just a few more steps…
1 Comment
OZM
12/22/2021 02:40:10 am
The vocabulary is somewhat convoluted, but the idea and the feeling are terrific (in both senses of the word)!
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About MeVekin87 is the author of the Albus Potter Series, a 7-book continuation of the J.K Rowling's Harry Potter books. The Things I Write While You're Asleep |
Photo used under Creative Commons from verchmarco