Dreamscape

Incandescent Seas

Darla knelt beside a sitting man under an old street light. Tired, he nearly fell asleep before remembering he had to get home.

"There, there now; can't fall asleep here!" The man said under his breath. Minutes later, his bed caught him in his one-room cabin.

"Sleep there guy. You walked for miles and miles," Darla said. The man fell asleep and into dreams. Dreams went slowly by like waters in a river.

He walked onto a trail leading onto a mountain dressed in yellow and orange. Snow topped its peak while clouds parted away from the sunset. The man held an unlit candle up to the sun to look as though it were the candles' flame, and the candle remained lit when he put it aside. A town far away began to light up with orange streetlights below the dimming sun, and the lights flickered as if singing songs no one could hear. A fox sat next to him.

"Smile because it happened, they say." The man told the fox. "Good times don't last, but did it have to be this soon?" He continued. The fox only looked on and said nothing. The man screamed, shouted, and cried. "I want! I want..." He couldn't say more. The fox's fur flickered like the flames scattered across the dream. It laid down while its hot colored coat went out.

The man walked under streetlights in a maze of houses and unfamiliar neighborhoods. He was still crying and refused comfort from warmth. Cold, crisp air covered the ground, trees, and buildings with glittering frost as snow slowly sank from the stars. A set of smaller footprints trailed part of his walk not belonging to the fox, and a slightly bigger set stopped further back. "It's best this way." The man said as he looked back at where the footprints branched off. A pain in his body seemed to make his dreams feel longer. The fox stopped and laid on its side again. The man waved thanks and goodbye. Soon the night will end.

Soon, the man goes back to work. Every day his unpaid work waits for him ten walking minutes away from cabin number 23. A dead fox slightly buried beneath his floorboards begins to stink, but not enough to reach the other cabins. Newspapers of his son's current school are nailed beside a window along with a picture of his wife he saved from his wallet's disposal. The man looked at his arm where it began to itch and knew he wouldn't be able to hide symptoms that were to come.

Darla stood beside him contemplating how to affect his wife's dreams or if she should at all. Either way, even if his captors didn't speak the same language, they'd eventually find the dead fox. A week later, other men discovered that escape was still possible despite the best their boss could manage.