-Dormancy- By Bryn Price AKA Seppuku Arts/Seppuku05 My mind is my sanctuary. A sacred place where I hide from the real world, yet I do not what I am hiding from and which world is the real world, is the dream world a nightmare or am I living the nightmare and seek refuge in the dream world? These are unanswered questions. I stand machine like staring into the descending mirror, deepening my thoughts, thinking about myself and the world I live in. Surrounding me is a tenebrous room concealing the cravasses of insignificant items. In this life, I live in repetition of daily tasks and a lingering curse of an ignorant tiredness, even now my eyelids hold concrete weighing me down desiring deep lethargy. By day I work in a factory producing vehicle parts among several sleep craving zombies. Routinely I control the machines as a puppeteer with puppets, Repeating the same thing over and over, show by show, until the resevoir of joy dries up. In this world I feel no emotions, the neutral of the worlds. I turn against the mirror, now polar to a stone matress bed, ready to repose, fearing of the location where I will wake up in the morning. I Career forward, with a single step I am forced to stop by a cold drowning superstition pulling the temperature down the rusty pool ladder. Shivering, rubbing my hand together for insulation a black shadow lays before my feet. Unable to move I gape at the shadow as paranoia bullies me to locomate, but my legs make a stubborn signal of ignorance. The shadow embosses into a lump, a lump growing taller rapidly, blistering my view, still ever growing my mind visually analyzes the shadow, upon sudden recognition I soon realise this shadow is no shadow, but a black cloak worn by something appearing from nowhere. Paralyzed I close my eyes denying what was going on, hoping to wake up in a land far away, but hope dies away in my dithering soul. With curiosity I open my eyes once again, there, gargantuous, standing before me a spectral figure gripping tight a scythe, immediate conclusions point only to Death. He has come for me, but how did I die? I see no recall of the event of death, no! I am not dead. Denial gives my muscles motion once again, I haste out of my apartment door, down the hall and sprint at optimum speed down the stairs and fiercefully out of the entrance. I come to an almost sudden halt, seeing the industrial town I have become accustomed to no longer exists, replacing it, skulks a downward spiral trailing down the abyss, fearfully I abscond down the spiral. Never ending I carry on, hoping to wake up in another place, trying to tear my self away from this nightmare, but what if this nightmare is real, am I really running from Death? Is it really my time to go? Exhausted, I cease running, for recovery, panting with my hands on knees. Nervous and frightened, apocalyptic denticulate shades circle me like vultures over a dying animal. Confused, I observe my surroundings looking for an escape route, it is ineviatable, I face my fate, boldy standing straight keeping my eyes acute to the reapperance of Death. He holds his scyth high. Read to strike. I close my eyes to make the pain more bearable. I wait for the pain. I feel no pain. I stand sightless waiting for it all to end. Still nothing. Gradually my eye open, no longer does death prepare to take my life, but a brighr white light, I no longer stand strenuously, but lay comfortably, no longer do I feel scared, but feel warm. I can hear voices drifting away into the distance as my vision clears up, this white light is the cushoined ceiling smiling back at me. I try to stand up but no success as my hands are tied by white coloured clothing. This is it, I am in the safe world, the happier place, as once again I return to reality, which strikes me cold discolouring my face, there is no emotionless plain, no outside fearful abyss swarmed with spectres. Relieved by the white softness of a box around me, I finally understand what is real again. For now.