Post by Strike on Feb 18, 2013 5:17:44 GMT -5
Familiar images danced in colorful display behind Strike’s closed eyelids. Chemicals flowed everywhere under his skin, in his blood veins into every inch of him. Chemicals that forced this unwanted slumber on his body. His brain struggled to remember the events for he knew something important had led to this point, that he had been attacked, but he could not bring himself to see it again. Instead he stood in the forest again, bathing in the sunlight filtered only slightly through leaves of the vibrantly colored tree leaves. The warmth soaked to his very bones spreading to every inch of his body. Insects and smaller animals sounded all around him in a concert for his ears alone. But this was one of the things to give away as a dream. In reality, there would never be so much noise. The insects were forgivable and possible, but no animal, especially on the lower spectrum of the food chain would make itself known.
Curiously, Strike looked down at himself. Rather than the bare skin of his chest and arms he wore black fabric of a shirt and a long dark coat. Instead of his tribal garb covering his lower half there was blue denim intact and heavy work boots. Instantly a hand reached for his face, feeling no piercings. Slowly he felt his hair, smooth and flat where it once was extremely unkempt. Finally his eyes searched his hands, seeing no dirt, grime or cuts over them.
Dazed and confused he stared above at the sun before a figure caught his eye. Searching for the source, he stared at the darkened form, somehow cast in thick heavy shadows despite the sunlight streaming through. The form only stood a couple yards from him and began to step closer. Evidently the figure became female and then a face revealed Iris. Blinking, he remembered her name, remembered the truth of how he knew that name. Another small movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned, shock still vibrating him. Another shadow revealed Kesia, the mother of his own child. Once more a new shadow revealed Trisha and then another, Oriana. Four women surrounded him and the pressure became all too real. His heart raced as his lungs struggled for breath that seemed to slowly be sucked from his lungs. Inch by inch they came closer, suffocating him with past nightmares and emotion of rejection, loss, and death.
Suddenly he was awake with a gasp and cough, his lungs once more sucking in sweet air. He could not die holding his breath but it definitely was uncomfortable and painful. In his coughing fit, Strike nearly rolled off the small cot he had been lying on. Catching himself he let his head hang over the edge as the nausea passed. Somewhere along the way, he must have shifted back. Bit by bit, he remembered what led him to his present condition, and even more startling, he remembered the dream and its meaning. And he could not help but wonder why he let himself get involved with so many women. Oh, he definitely remembered the heartache at the end of each one. The exact lead up was still fuzzy and unclear, but the ending emotions and blurred images were very well known. Iris; manipulation and conversion resulting in death. Kesia; ultimate abandonment leading to responsibility of his son. Trisha, the most complicated; manipulation, anger and aggression, deep infatuation, tied around her finger like a string, realization only to end in death…for both of them at one point or another. Oriana; a shot in the dark against all the rules in the book and identity confusion leading to his current situation. How the hell did he get himself into this? Was this his reason for not wanting to come to this place? No, it felt like there was more. A hand grasped at his forehead as the first headache hit.
Curiously, Strike looked down at himself. Rather than the bare skin of his chest and arms he wore black fabric of a shirt and a long dark coat. Instead of his tribal garb covering his lower half there was blue denim intact and heavy work boots. Instantly a hand reached for his face, feeling no piercings. Slowly he felt his hair, smooth and flat where it once was extremely unkempt. Finally his eyes searched his hands, seeing no dirt, grime or cuts over them.
Dazed and confused he stared above at the sun before a figure caught his eye. Searching for the source, he stared at the darkened form, somehow cast in thick heavy shadows despite the sunlight streaming through. The form only stood a couple yards from him and began to step closer. Evidently the figure became female and then a face revealed Iris. Blinking, he remembered her name, remembered the truth of how he knew that name. Another small movement caught the corner of his eye and he turned, shock still vibrating him. Another shadow revealed Kesia, the mother of his own child. Once more a new shadow revealed Trisha and then another, Oriana. Four women surrounded him and the pressure became all too real. His heart raced as his lungs struggled for breath that seemed to slowly be sucked from his lungs. Inch by inch they came closer, suffocating him with past nightmares and emotion of rejection, loss, and death.
Suddenly he was awake with a gasp and cough, his lungs once more sucking in sweet air. He could not die holding his breath but it definitely was uncomfortable and painful. In his coughing fit, Strike nearly rolled off the small cot he had been lying on. Catching himself he let his head hang over the edge as the nausea passed. Somewhere along the way, he must have shifted back. Bit by bit, he remembered what led him to his present condition, and even more startling, he remembered the dream and its meaning. And he could not help but wonder why he let himself get involved with so many women. Oh, he definitely remembered the heartache at the end of each one. The exact lead up was still fuzzy and unclear, but the ending emotions and blurred images were very well known. Iris; manipulation and conversion resulting in death. Kesia; ultimate abandonment leading to responsibility of his son. Trisha, the most complicated; manipulation, anger and aggression, deep infatuation, tied around her finger like a string, realization only to end in death…for both of them at one point or another. Oriana; a shot in the dark against all the rules in the book and identity confusion leading to his current situation. How the hell did he get himself into this? Was this his reason for not wanting to come to this place? No, it felt like there was more. A hand grasped at his forehead as the first headache hit.