There are times in everyone’s life that you find things out of place, and are just oddities. Something is not where you swear you left it, or you find exactly what you need when the timing is perfect, like someone is looking out for you. Your keys are nowhere to be found, and then you find them in the place you checked three times before. I don’t know what this phenomenon is, and I don’t know if it linked to what has been happening here.
It started when we moved in to the house. It was spotless and full of bright light with all of the walls painted a blank eggshell. It was a canvas waiting to be filled with a new vibrant story. As I have come to find out however it already has a story and is commanding the brushstrokes as it sees fit!
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I drove down the road tonight listening to the melodic tap dancing sounds my tires make with the gravel crammed in their grooves. Every brush and bramble, every light post held a curved Greeble or other assassin hiding and waiting. As I approach they turn and reveal themselves, but they do not take up the chase. Its that they understand I’ll be back and even though I know their hiding places, it makes no difference to their patience.
I was on a conquest for alcohol, the only thing readily accessible to numb the other dancing in my head, holding me captive. Normally contained in the house, I can escape when the times are dire and I have to purchase food or other staple items. Why is it my family only seems here and present in the daylight hours, or when I need verification that I am sane? They are all too eager to admit I am – I’m suspicious of them all.
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I woke up from this terrible dream with the desperate urge to use the bathroom. I replayed the images from a few minutes before in my head while wandering to the toilet and taking a seat: I saw no people, but could hear them in the not too distant spaces, crevices or possibly rooms below the thick and wet stone slabs I was hunched upon. These huge plates of rock were porous like lava rock, but mostly flat and covered in a sticky film of clear mucus or syrup of some sort. I could only see a few feet in any direction, and had the sensation that something was quickly approaching me from behind – regardless of where I spun. I was not being hunted. I was being descended upon.
Never the less I was not “captured” in the dream, and the descent that I spoke of was pretty much perpetual like an audible illusion. It only seemed like the arbiter of death was getting closer, though it was definitely behind me.
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