The Day of the Dreamers

He dances upon a wall of stone, his bare toes gripping delicately at the moss that adorns it. His hair is as a dark veil, blotting out the sun as it flies, merry and loose in the wind. Those eyes that once held such hate are joyous and free. Nothing matters. Nothing ever mattered.

His grip, precarious at best, is lost. In his fall, he goes limp, and those joyous eyes slide slowly closed. The wind that had played in his hair becomes razor sharp, slicing through flesh like so much warm butter. He utters not a sound in his descent, comfortable with the knowledge of its' inevitability. The truth of this moment was revealed to him long ago, in the strange and difficult language of omens. His silence held more meaning than ten thousand words.

He awoke in shadows and shackles. The only light came from a wicked forge, illuminating a foolish boy and his twisted master, gnarled and vicious in visage. The master bade the fool forward, and the fool poured molten metal into his veins. He did not scream. He would never scream again, for he was forged anew, of iron and ice. The cruelties of man are nothing to him.

He walks from the forge, painted in shades of red and grey, with fingers like knives and eyes of steel. The path he follows was overgrown, the mandrakes turning to ash beneath his feet. His clawed hand gently caresses the willows, and he watches them weep, impassive and unattached. A few unfortunate souls who stumble into his path fall to their knees in his wake, vomiting precious rubies onto the cherry blossoms. He feels nothing.

His path ends at a bridge, crafted of bone and silver. At his first step, reality distorts. The silent river beneath becomes torrid and crimson. An azure sky goes white, and the setting sun turns black, shedding darkness upon the world. The forest behind him becomes a waste in an instant, and he knows that all things are nothing but dreams of dreams.

The world is born anew at his every step. It is the day of the dreamers. He is but one in an infinite sea. The bridges, built of an infinite variety of materials, intersect in an intricate maze over the river of tears. He is everything. He is nothing. Acceptance. He falls into the void.