[Story] NightDreamer09's 100 Themes

[NightDreamer09]

34. Stars

 

I advise the reader's caution.

Song for the piece: Lacuna Coil's Stars.

Stars Even with the city lights making the night all but dark, she could still see the stars up there. It wasn’t easy, but they were there… up there… they winked feebly, trying to fight against the poisonous artificial lights, washing them away. Her hand reached up to rest on the cold glass, palm open, like if she could reach out to those stars up there. She imagined the glass disappearing, the poisonous lights diminishing to flickering, far away dots and the stars finally shining again. Her breath was soft as it misted the clear glass, it clouded the view of the outside, it clouded the stars above, in a similar way the poisonous lights were clouding the stars’ light. The glass wasn’t that cold anymore as she leaned against it, as she found in it the same invisible barrier she had found in her life. She wished people had listened to her, she wished people listed to her, she wished people spent a fraction of time to understand her. The room was dark with only the poisonous lights from the outside draping the outlines of objects and furniture. Dark and empty… dark as her own existence, empty as her own soul. Poisoned by those lights, chilled by them, stripped by them… till nothing was left but a husk of a past self. If only she could reach those stars… shining feebly up there, so far away… Dark clouds slithered forward, their underbelly lightened by the poisonous lights while the rest of them was darker than the dark. They were clouds of rain, thick and deep, clouds that would obscure those little stars high above. Rain started splattering on the glass, carried by the wind, and the stars started to wink out, unable to pierce such growing barrier. She felt their light going out, she felt herself starting to fade as well. The glass was left to cool as she moved outside, on the balcony. Her eyes tried to pierce through those clouds, they really tried. Rain splattered on her cheeks, first a drop, then two, then more. Were the sky shedding tears for the lost stars? She couldn’t but wonder. Her lips spread just a little, the rain tasted of chemicals, of the poisoning lights that were turning everything dead. She retraced the past, step by step, leaving each step behind. More rain came down, it started to drip down her face, soak her clothes… and yet, she didn’t feel it. She was leaving her life behind as she tried to see those last stars before they went out; she felt a weight lift from her heart. That was it, that was the end, she didn’t have to fight against such poisonous lights anymore, she could let it all go, she could leave her life behind and her heart free to soar up to the stars. The rain didn’t even make a sound anymore as it splattered on every kind of surface, as it hazed those poisonous lights. In fact, she didn’t hear anything anymore. She could only see the rain, the wiping tears of a fallen god... and those dark clouds… but in that last moment… she saw one last star… struggling… before it went out… just as she left her life behind and let her heart free. The poisonous lights shone through the falling rain… stark and uncaring, like they had been made… cold and unforgiving, like they always have been…

[NightDreamer09]

56. Danger ahead

 

About urban exploration. Inspired by real places.

Danger ahead The danger warning on the fence proclaimed the presence of dangers ahead and warned all unwelcome visitors to stay away. Since the dawn of times, a danger sign has hardly ever stopped anyone. The fence, made of metal mesh, was overgrown by bushes and growing creeper plants pretty much all along its path. What laid behind had been sitting closed, slowly crumbling to pieces for years now. In one of the many economic crisis, it had closed; there had been talks about reopening it, about not letting one of the big employers of the city close definitely but in reality, the moment the last employee left the implant on that, last day, its destiny had been a certainty. Season after season, plants and bushes had slowly started to retake their lost ground. The rust grew on the metal beams and supports. Vandals, scavengers and squatters passed through in search of fun, profit or a safe harbour. They kept on walking along the barbed wired topped fence for a few minutes. To get inside, you needed to find the right entrance: there were points where previous visitors had broken it up to get inside. Soon enough, they found the spot they were looking for: on one of the less tracked sides, half hidden by the growing forest, the fence had been ripped open. It wasn’t what one would call a grand nor easy entrance: with backpacks and all, they had to crawl through stinging bushes, dirt and barbed wire remains. They made their way through the bushes and small trees, trying to be less noisy as possible before the path opened up in a wide asphalt and concrete expanse. They had arrived. The huge buildings towered in front of them, the tall, dark smokestacks far down the line. The clear area was empty but for a few forgotten ladles and heaps of materials. Train tracks cut into the concrete but from them plants were slowly growing up. The smell there was already different. A fine black dust still lingered around but they knew it would be even more present when they delved inside. With little to photograph, they reached for the huge metal doors: a few storeys high, they could let trains and machines in and out. A danger sign was affixed on it, once again warning the visitor of the dangers of the workshop hiding behind. A different kind of dangers now rested in those dusty halls: gone were the days of moving parts, searing heat and blinding light. Now the dangers were of rusty metal, unsafe footing and crumbling parts. So much has changed. They didn’t go in by the main door, too big to open. Not far there was a human sized access, perfect to let them inside. Inside it was even more dusty: the dark thick dust, somewhat like sand, clung and piled up on every surface. Masked and ready, they slowed moved deeper: tools and machinery had remained in the same spot they had been left on that final day. It all felt like production could restart any day. In fact, in one of the control rooms, some of the displays still had power, reporting of temperatures and data that won’t matter again. Metal stairs were creaking, full of sandy thick dust, but the view from the walkaways high above… it was worth the dangerous climb. The bird eye view above the workshop felt like could never end. A weak sun streaked down through the skylights, the only heat the place will ever see again. Hooks hang from never moving again overhead cranes, boxes and containers piled up and filled holding areas, ladles rested waiting for just another hot load. It all had stopped at that day. A pair of gloves, a calendar still at that month of that year, rested in one of the control rooms. Who left either forgot about the gloves or knew they wouldn’t need them anymore. For sure, nobody ever came back to update the calendar. The industrial plant was like a maze with multiple workshops halls filled with machinery and the ever present thick dust. Some parts had remained mostly untouched, while some others had been ravaged by scavengers and vandals. Exploring it all in a day was not possible, it was just too massive and too much time was lost stopping by taking pictures and observing the details, the moods and the atmosphere. A unique atmosphere shrouding those massive, echoing halls, covered in the thick sandy dust of a past that will never come back. The sun started to go down, less was the light filtering through the skylights, through open doors and cracks in the walls. It was time to leave. As silent as they came, they retraced their steps, leaving the dust to settle once again, letting the plant go back to its endless sleep and the halls fall back in silence but for the slow creaking of metal and the flittering of some rare insect. A day visit that felt like a week. Time felt much slower when roaming the deserted halls, empty of life but for the silent, blind stare of machinery. When no sound of the outside truly came true but as a feeble, far away one. Another place in space and time. They came out from the same hole in the fence, the sun low on the horizon, dipping in. Like nothing happened, they walked away. The danger sign warned them about trespassing, about the dangers ahead. It didn’t stop them.

[NightDreamer09]

39. Dreams

 

Written listening to Roman Flugel - Wilkie on repeat and thinking of a clip or two from ski films and edits. Location? Japan or British Columbia.

The trick is a double flat spin with Japan mute, kind of like this.

Dreams Snow was falling. Thick, fluffy snowflakes spiralled down from heavy grey clouds. They didn’t melt when they sat down on coarse wood, cold metal, sleek plastic or other soft snow. They stuck there, piling up, one of top of the other. Cutting through the piling snow arose widening, white clouds. And that’s what she was doing: her skis cut into the fluffy snow layer, she dipped at each turn, coming back up only to dip again. All in a white cloud. Tree trunks sped past in dark shapes on an all white surroundings. Turn after turn, the skis cut into the unspoiled surface, leaving behind sinuous, somewhat parallel tracks. The unique feeling of flying in a cloud of powder. Her view bouncing between the trees coming in, big and small, and all white landscape, just white, when the cloudy powder blinded her. The neck warmer was pulled high, under the googles but through the fabric, her mouth could taste the cold touch of such powdery clouds. Turn after turn, it was like flying, on a white cloud, dethatching her from the rest of the world. And when she had reached the bottom line… it was only time to get back up. Again and again. Time was only for the there and then, there wasn’t an ending in sight, there wasn’t a flow of time. There was only going up… only to flow down, there was only the thick snow crystals falling from the clouded sky, there was only the powder as far as eye could see. She felt herself leave the ground. She reached down and her gloved hand trying to grab the opposite ski midway, just as she brought the ski closer to herself. She spun flatly into the air… grey sky, white ground, grey sky… her hand keeping a tight grip on the ski. For a moment, a moment that dragged on for longer than it could be believed without trying, she was above the powdery clouds, flying between falling snowflakes. She spotted the snow coming back in and she let it go. Just in time, to land heavily, to raise an even bigger cloud of snow, sinking in, an endless white surrounding her: she felt like submerged into the powder. But then… she rebounced up, only to sink again, before she could surface and finally slide away. She gasped for air behind the neck warmer, adrenaline running hot. She carved, avoiding a pine tree, carving again to avoid a second. She slowed down, glancing back, to the steep incline that let her take flight. She suddenly gasped and her eyes opened to let her see… none of the powder she thought she was sinking into. For a moment, she had thought, she had illusioned herself she was there, right there, skiing into the forest… and yet… reality was harsh, showing her the small room afar from the powder snow, afar from where she dreamed she was. The music had stopped and she had suddenly fallen back to the real world. It was all a dream… but it had felt so real… She looked at the white ceiling and sighed. She lived for those dreams: they reminded her she was fighting for something, she reminded her it was worth working hard now to get there, where the snow was thick and the powder endless, to get where the dreams became reality. They were just dreams, wishful even, but it was everything she had at that point in time. But one day… one day the dreams will become reality.

[NightDreamer09]

43. Dying

 

Written listening by Dream Theater’s A View From the Top of the World. Inspired by the Dream theatre’s song with just a bit of Ayreon.

Dying The sky is gloomy, with heavy clouds hiding the warm kiss of the sun. Little flakes of ash flit down, coating the ocean with an oily film. The world is dying and I’m leaving it behind. Dark water laps at the flanks of the ship, the waves slowly rock it. The ship’s crane slowly turns: from it, a bathyscaphe hangs. A dark shape, black but for the transparent main canopy and a few yellow accents. It is ready to delve into the depths of the ocean. It’s time for me to leave the world behind. I’m going down. The bathyscaphe is slowly lowered toward the ocean, ash slowly slides down the front window. The world is on fire and there is nothing to be done to save it. I’m tired. I’m hopeless. I’m leaving the world behind. The first dark waves kisses at the bottom of the bathyscaphe and the ocean slowly opens to embrace the machine. A last, long look at the gloomy, cloudy sky. I know I won’t see it again. I know I won’t see the world again. I know only my memories will remember of how it once was: green and blue, lush and alive. I’m going down. The dark, polluted water is now halfway in covering the front window and the waves lap eagerly at the ash flakes hanging on the glass. The light is changing as the dark water slowly engulfs the bathyscaphe. The moment is short when the last ray peek through the top of the window but then… the ocean swallows it all. I’m leaving the world behind. I’m going down. The light here is much darker: gone are the days of crystalline oceans. Now is the time of darkness. The light keeps on diminishing as I let the bathyscaphe head downward. The descent is calm. I’m going down. The light soon disappears and only darkness surrounds me, only the instrument panel sheds some glow in the deepening dimness. I barely see my hands. In fact, I don’t see much, but I don’t want to see. I’ve seen… too much. The more I go down, the more I feel the world is growing afar. Afar are the fires, the smoke and the ash. Afar from the gloomy clouds hiding the last kiss of the father sun for its dying child. A soft rocking vibrates through the bathyscaphe. Not all currents are dead. I know I’ll find more currents below, but I’m not scared: I choose it. I’m going down and I’m leaving the world behind. It feels endless. The darkness is endless. Time has slowed down and it feels like ages have already gone by since I dipped into the ocean. Will I find peace down here? I don’t know. But I know I couldn’t live up there anymore. I couldn’t see my house burning as the ash shaped new horizons. I’m going down, letting the endless darkness become forever. A heavier rocking vibrates and shakes the bathyscaphe. By reflexes I hold the joystick harder and breath sharply. Currents still lingers down below, but they are not the only ones that had retreated to the depths. Just like me, others have retreated to the depths of the ocean. Creatures of a long forgotten pasts. Good and bad. But is there a distinction of good and bad in the depths of the ocean where survival is master and the rest are nothing but slaves?! Something hits my port side and the bathyscaphe sways. In the darkness I cannot see what it had been. The instruments say I have yet to reach the bottom. I breath and lean back into the chair, just as something brushes against the transparent canopy. I cannot but wonder if they are aware the world is dying, if they are aware I left the world behind, if they are aware I’m here to escape the weight of my own memories. I get used to the inhabitants of the depths visiting the bathyscaphe as I keep going down. I’m already forgetting how it was the light of the father sun. I’m already forgetting how the warmth of the father sun felt on the bare skin. Truth to be told, I’ve been forgetting that for a much longer time. Now that I think on it, I can’t remember the time of letting the father sun kiss my skin without glass barriers shielding me from our dying world. A bigger creature comes visiting me but I only vaguely see it in the glow of the instruments. They say its big. I cannot but wonder how it could grow this big this deep… and how old it truly is… I cannot but wonder if it remembers how the world was before dying. It feels like ages has passed when the instruments tell me I’m close to the bottom. I feel elation: further than here I cannot go. My descent is reaching its terminus. The bathyscaphe softly lands on the bottom, a soft thud resonating through the hull. I’m at the end of the road. At last. I power everything off and darkness becomes complete. I have made my choices and I know there is no turning back now. I left the world behind. The now unmanned ship rocks on the growing waves, weighted by the ash and by a n already written destiny. The clouds grow darker and heavier, lightnings tear the growing darkness apart and the sea grows more and more restless. The storm comes fast. And hard. The unmanned ship hold itself for some time before the forces of Nature, the last remaining forces, overpower it and it too, starts the long descent. It leaves the world behind, to join its last Captain in the eternal sleep at the bottom of the ocean, as far as they could go from a dying world.

[NightDreamer09]

10. Breathe Again

 

Breathe Again She gasped upright, taking in air in big, ragged breath. She needed a moment to take in her surroundings. The dark room, the bed with the undone sheets. Slowly she had her breath back in check, taking in deep breath to calm down. She had been… dreaming? She wondered. It felt like that one time… things had gone wrong there, she had gone too far, but she had been caught… in time. Afterwards, she had felt she hadn’t been breathing before. She felt she had been living in apnea, needing oxygen without ever knowing she did. Then, afterwards, after long days of forced stop with plenty of time to muse of the life and the Universe, she came to understand how breathless she had been, hunting for an untouchable something always out of her reach. She shook her head and reached to take a sip of water from the bottle standing on the nightstand. So much has changed and so much could still change. She got up, leaving the warm and yet lightly sweaty bed for the chill air of the night. She reached for one of her oversized hoodies, wriggling into it. In those moment, trying to go back to sleep wouldn’t just cut it. She made her way to the kitchen and the faint buzz of electricity could be seen as the water boiler get on warming her water. The lights under the hanging closets were enough to light her way around but not too much to blind her in such early hour of the morning. It wasn’t long that the water was boiling and the steam rose from the mug with a printed autumn pattern. With the hands being warmed by the now full cup, she made her way through the small apartment. She let the mug rest on the table for a moment as she rose the shutters, letting the early light of the day stream in. It was very early, the night still clung to the surroundings but it was slowly receding: it was getting more blue and less black. The lights of the street lamps and of buildings’ entrances dotted the landscape, with only rare windows showing the burning light of someone already awake. She grabbed the cup again and curled up back on the couch, with a sight on the panorama outside. She slowly took a sip of the hot beverage, letting it run down her throat, warm her from the inside. She breathed slowly and her mind went back to those breathless times. Waiting, biding her time first, then searching, hunting, for something unreachable, something impalpable. She had been without breath even before knowing it and it took years for her to realize it. She felt she was now breathing again. She had learned to breath again. To enjoy some things and let others just… go. She could take the air in… wait a moment… and let it all out again. She pulled a strand of hairs behind her ear as her eyes wandered on the landscape. The tea was very hot in such a cold early morning. She shivered lightly, pulling a blanket on her. She knew other people had actively tried to keep her breathless: a person without breath was more controllable, was more malleable to pressure and other’s interests. She had rebelled, she had asked to breath again. Some complied, some did not, but she couldn’t but smile: who did not have parted ways with her. She leaned back, taking another slow breath. Sometimes being breathless was good: it made you feel even more aware of yourself, of the inner limits of flesh. And it meant you were pushing the boundaries of your own flesh. That was the breathless she liked. She smiled, sipping from the cup, letting the flavour of the tea fill her nostrils. In such early morning it was kind of nice watching the darkness recede, the man made lights grow together with the nature’s light as a new day dawned on the world. As the sun was forewarning its soon to be coming. She breathed and rose. The cup was by now empty, both of tea and of warmth. The warmth was now inside her, with a good breath and a day that could still give plenty. Only if she breathed it deeply.