The Art of Magic

The Lingering Nightmare

It was cold.

The slithering dark against my face felt cold. Perhaps the coldest it has ever been.

I cannot speak, I cannot breath, I try to reach towards the flickering light above me but I couldn't feel my hands, frankly I could barely feel anything at all.

I try to form a fist yet feel nothing.

I am bound...

I try to thrash and scream, as I do I see flickering images of earlier cut through my psyche.

The burning skies as the world wept blood.

The screams of horror and agony as the world we knew crumbled in to dust.

I was helpless to stop the onslaught of my own making.

Anger.

Unrelenting anger.

It filled my mind like dark clouds on stormy weather.

It was hell. The more I stay asleep and sedated the more vivid those images become. I force my eyes open only to struggle at the faintest of blinks.

This...

Familiar feeling.

It reminds me of rain...

Endless.

Heavy.

Yes.

It has started pouring down once more. I feel like I'm drowning this time. The worst it has ever been.

My eyes slowly fl