"Wake up." Someone mutters.

It's tough. Waking up. The dreams are always kissing my soul. The people out there can't do that. The night is dark and the day darker. But my prison of dreams is strong.

I wake up. I wake up and live.

"We're almost there." He says.

The car was on uneven roads and the night shone down on the car and us. The woods spread out on both sides. Deep, dark woods. With seldom spoken truths. The wind was high this night and as it blew in through the car window, it whispered- 'go away'.

The car lurched to a stop a good bit from the dying manor. It was huge. And fierce. The wetness of the place and the fresh smell (I forgot what it's called) showed signs of a recent downpour. He turned to me and said, "Let go". I couldn't help wondering that it should have been 'let's go' or 'let us go'. Let go?

We stepped out of the car and it moved away. Started leaving. Being swallowed by the woods. Te last traces of its being faded into the unknown. The sky rumbled. He looked up. "Storm's in again. Don't wanna get wet, huh?" he chuckled and shrugged into his raincoat. I didn't have one. I didn't care. We started moving towards the manor. No, wait... I rubbed my eyes. The car had dropped us fairly far away, and recent slumber meant that I never noticed the fence, double as high as the place. It spread out infinitely on two sides but the side facing me was contained. We walked on. There were seven men with guns around the fence. I counted them. Seven with seven guns. Fake ammunition, probably. One of them pointed at me and said something to another. They laughed. And that cut through the silence of the night and stabbed me.

We walked on.

The fence closed in on us. My accomplice talked to one of the guards. I didn't hear. Something I saw blocked my attention. I moved towards the lone iron bar, partly buried in the soil. The iron was about a metre from the fence and it was rusting. I leaned in. worn out words which could barely be made out. I leaned in closer. 'Seldom hide inked traumas' or something like that. How could I see them in the dead of the night? That's cause of the floodlights. There were two of them. On the corners of the fence. And their yellow glares darkened the iron. I kicked in and it dented. The earth probably drank the sound it should have made.

A drop of water landed obliquely on my face. I looked up and the sky flashed. Bright on dark. The bright closed and grumbled. The dark sustained.

A call in my direction. I see him beckon me. The fenced had opened somewhat to let us in and as we entered, a seven smiled- "A new night, sir". I walked on.

The way to the manor was unpaved and mud stuck deep to my boots. I tried making out the surroundings but couldn't the lights shone outwards. The insides of the compound slept. The sky flashed again. But this time, before the grumble, another sound was passed through the night. A scream. High pitched, female. Absolutely human. "Well, things live in the woods..." he said softly". That thing was a human." I answered. "Or not." He resumed. I paused for a moment. Then followed. The day would give a clearer picture of the compound. We climbed up the steps leading to the door and he knocked.

At this point of my life, I was confused. Hopefully because of the sleep. Maybe because I'm insane. Mad. I don't like to think that I'm mad. Cause madness spreads through your blood like your blood seeps into your cloth. Slowly. Ever so slowly. And deep. Then it remains. Sucking your life out of you and drinking it. That's mad. And that's not me.

I was so confused. Partly because my past was blurry, and partly because of the future.

Where am I going? Why am I going?

I won't die again, will I?

That's the question I hate asking. About death. When it's the only truth. You see, death is pure. Unblemished. But death also stinks. And rots, burns, shreds, and tears, and consumes, freezes and halts.

Hopefully (I hope a lot) this dark manor would provide me answers the man beside me never gave. I wait.

The door opens, revealing an old, bent, male figure, which lets us in. the chambers inside yawn and I feel their breath enter my lungs. Old and musty. With a hint of fragrance. Newly sprayed. Halfway in, something breaks into my skull. Pain. Sudden and sharp.

The dark world turns darker and I fade.

Dearest, it's cold. The head on my shoulder says.

The dream comes slowly.

I met her when it was cold. As kids. She- sitting and reading, her back to the garden oak and me, on the upper branches of the same tree. Crisp autumn sun glaze. Not sunshine, no. sun glaze. Early morning. A faint morning crowd of people doing what a crowd of people do in the early morning. I believe she didn't feel my presence.

What was I doing there? I don't quite remember. I landed in front of her. She jumped, startled. She was beautiful. Me, an adolescent, fell for that beauty. She, being a budding woman, took four years.

What was her name, again?

It is. Colder. Colder...

I don't remember a lot. Only the scream. The one which didn't belong to her.

A warm drop traces its path through frozen objects, cleansing them.

The reverie broke. Unformed.

White light peers down at me as I unpart my lids. Pain shot through my eyes so I squint. The bright light is muffed by two figures appearing spontaneously. They look down at me. I come to my senses. I was lying own on a hard bed, my head throbbing. My brain sloshing an beating against my skull like waves. I breathe in deep.

"You all right, mate?" a figure speaks. I recognize the voice. Unbroken and smooth, medium pitched, bit rough at the edges and sweet after. When you hear that voice, you think, every single time- who is this? - Even if you know him fairly well. The voice which seems like it is unbound by meaning. The voice that- for no perfect reason- you stay wary of.

Yeah, I knew the voice.

And I knew the person.

A second voice speaks. Older, frail. Blemished and cracked. Trying to sound smooth, something it could never be. "So...bouts of vasovagal syncope...nothing, to be exact." I don't really like it when I don't understand words. Words like vaso-whatever syn-drome? The speaker of the strange words grumbled something to the other and walked away. Not before telling me that I was as fine as a maggot in a cheese-cake; which left me with weird imaginations which involved being eaten unnoticed.

"Want something to eat?" the first voice says, its owner pulling me up. I check my watch, blinking once or twice. "It's two AM", I say. "To your bed then." He says softly. Being half drunk on sleep, I didn't really visualise the path to my room. I think I remember a hysterical laugh cutting through the quiet as we went up the staircase. Mostly dark, flushed with blushes of moonlight through partly grimed windows. We reached the room in undecipherable time. Maybe he said good night. I hope I responded back. I dropped down on the hard mattress. This world succumbs to the appearance of another.

Another world.

Another life.

Another fucking dream.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'm floating on light in a dark bled chamber of earth. The aura felt familiar...of the place, that is. I look around, trying to make out the shifting silhouettes till they form a figure. A female. "Miss me?" she speaks. "What..." I start, but she shushes me. I still can't make out her features. I feel her warmth. I feel it so deep in me that I think it is a part of me. Deep. Deep. It creeps down...ever so slowly, stroking me. She speaks again. "Your name..." I try reaching for her but she's so far away. And dissolving and dying, and rotting, and...she screams. High pitched. Female. Absolutely human.

The surroundings change as the scream fades. Dark red woods build up to a clarity, to a perfection, so unlike reality, that it's almost surreal. Soaring above my head. And I standing, floating beneath those monsters. It's her again. She's smiling. We move closer and I hold her. If I let go, she'll melt into a pool of blood. I know. I've always known that somehow. I reach for her face and pull a strand of her hair. It's alive. And pulsating. "This is just a dream, you know..." I nod. Her soft red dress catches fire. She starts to burn. And burn and I hold her closer for I know that she'll be gone before I...before I... She laughs and pushes me away. She twirls and jumps on uneven soil and burns. "Like my dress?" and burns. The fire has reached her waist now. Her skin below that charred and naked. She laughs and stops and waits till I reach her. The flames, I see, lap her bosoms. She speaks "Where are your lovely dreams and pages?" she stifles a laugh. I reach for her again and she's gone. "You're dust, dearest." A voice. "You're too."

The sound of moving leaves make me look up. Eyes stare down at me, from the safe comfort of the trees. Yellow irises.

Yellow irises which laughed, yellow irises which bled.