"person13's Dream" -Written by My Subconscious

"Person13’s Dream"​

-All credit for the idea goes toward my subconscious​

And yes, I dreamed this​

A single man walked the vast desert. A rush of memory stirred in him as it had before; it was always the same, just a blur of memory and emotion, a flash of dull color and little more. He could remember nothing more than this, not why he marched onward, from whence he came, what awaited him, nor why he remained unmarred by the extreme heat.
His apparel was simplistic: a tight, black and sleeveless shirt, dusted marching boots, and pants dotted with color ranging from olive-green to washed-out yellow; his appearance was not: his entire frame rippled with power. His crown bore a coarse, black buzz-cut. His face bore chiseled features with dark, piercing eyes drilled into it, and a gold insignia rested on his forehead. The remainder of his tanned, towering physique was a tensely coiled spring, as was his mind. He knew nothing of what lay further, yet a silent siren’s song beckoned him; something he needed was ahead, and he marched on.
“Where are you going?” came the words from this annoyance once more as it had for far too many hours. “And again, why aren’t you saying anything? Are you some kind of mute? I just happen to be taking a stroll through the forest and I hear someone who looks like the devil’s at his heels. The least I deserve is an explanation!”
Why does this fool pursue me so? thought the one who sped with purpose. More than once he had considered skewering him with his steel. If he had stalked the trees and undergrowth with his standard caution, the pest would have never seen him clad in his green. But sound was no enemy; it was time that lengthened his stride. The words of the Elder as she called for him at eventide re-echoed in all its urgency: Go by the light of dawn through the woods to the north. Do not deviate nor cease from that course, nor must you question anything that may cross your path. You must adapt and think fast, as must your feet, for there is a bigger picture you cannot see. Go, and know that the fate of our people rests with you. No one in the village questioned the Elder. That was the only reason the stumbling fool behind him wasn’t yet silenced. Although, his persistence was remarkable as was his speed. Certainly any other would have lost pace wi-
Stars streaked his vision as the man of the forest tumbled backwards to the earth. Colors of towering foliage spiraled and blurred as his follower’s words became intelligible. “My goodness, are you alright? Of course not! You just threw yourself to the ground! What happened?”
He blocked out the noise as he painfully rose to his knees. A brief examination confirmed drops of blood in his nostrils. He could see where his footsteps ended before he fell. He leaned forward with his hands outstretched, and they touched an invisible surface. He spread his hands over it, curled them into a fist and struck it; his knuckles cracked from the force. Strong as rock! And yet an entire forest was plain to be seen beyond it!
Adapt and think fast. He turned to quickly examine his surroundings. He stood in a small clearing free of undergrowth with a boulder in its center. A path of dirt stretched away to his right. Perhaps he was meant follow it, he concluded, for something of importance may lie that way. Suddenly his attention was fixed on his pursuer. He had introduced himself as Tingle many times over, but the man of the forest never so much as looked over his shoulder. He was a short man with a pointed chin who wore green and red tights with a conical hat. The man of the forest stifled a laugh, but a smile managed to spread as he resumed his pace along the dirt path. “Oh, where are you off to now?” he called. “You know what? No! I’m not following you anymore! I’ll just sit right here and wait, you hear me?” Silence stretched and he broke it with a moan. An unsettling breeze blew overhead and stirred the forest.
A thirty-second jog yielded a moss covered, wooden door poorly installed into the front of a cave. The man tested and slowly turned a rusted knob. He tentatively stepped inside a pool of black and saw a strange sight to behold: a lone man garbed in black with a red strip of cloth in the center of the upper portion of his garment sat at a wooden desk that supported a black box that emanated white light from one side. A single questioning “Yeah?” was his warm greeting. The guest noticed several small light-green sacks that seemed to be filled to the brim with water were strewn randomly across the floor. An impulse seized him. “May I have some of these?” he asked.
“Uh, sure.” The answerer’s eyes never strayed from the light, and he began pressing a series of buttons on a second, thinner box in front of him. The man of the forest quickly grabbed three of the sacks and left this strange one as he ran back down the path. He noticed that they had no weight and they seemed to have no real strength in their frame. His ears were then assaulted by the heated, high-pitched screams of the one who called himself Tingle.
“Oh, there you are!” said with a note of sarcasm. “I was wondering where you scampered off to.” And blankly, “What are those?” One of ‘those’ was held by the man’s raised arm. With all his strength, he tossed it at the invisible wall. Strangely, it moved very slowly and in a straight line without being pulled to the earth. As it neared where the transparent wall should have been, a wave of force and a cloud of fire and smoke burst from it. The smoke choked both the sight and breath of the two individuals.
As it cleared, they saw a large, jagged hole that had been torn into the wall. Inside was simply a world of glowing white and nothing else, save it were for a transparent path that led away from it, visible only from a patch of sunlight shining onto it. Tingle was astonished beyond all measure. The man of the forest stepped forward to examine the road. His fingers met the path and involuntarily twitched from its frigid temperature. It was ice! The same to be seen in a lake at winter! Mimicking a stunt he had perfected in his childhood, he removed two knives from his pack, placed the orbs in it, and tied the knives blade-down to the soles of his boots. With a quick jump he thrust forward and began sliding down the frozen path. Tingle’s pleading voice that called for him to come back was lost with the distance as the man’s entire world gradually turned to a blank sheet of paper.
Some time ago, the man of the desert had espied a single red mountain in the distance beneath a lone cloud. He now stood directly before it; this single, green topped mesa with an oasis to the side bore a large, carved stone door that had been carved into the mountain, and its mere presence mocked him. Curling his fist, he struck the door with all his might and shattered it like glass. He stepped briskly over the rubble and entered into a large and hollow, high-ceilinged chamber that was filled by a golden light which emanated from the center.
The man of the forest’s legs were beginning to grow as stiff as oak branches. He had skated for a long time, and any longer would drive him mad; he, one who lived for and loved everything about nature, was confined to a humid world of nothing but his own being, the wind in his face, and the sound of scraped ice.
Suddenly the sound ceased; the wind grew in intensity. His thoughts grew frantic as he realized the ice was now gone, and he was falling into a void. But, when terror had become almost all-consuming, something began to come into view below. The way it came into being only offered one explanation: he had been in a fog of sorts, and now a field of yellow loomed into view as he emerged. He saw one green patch in this pale wall that now rushed towards him. He closed his eyes, and chose to accept whatever became of him.
The man of the desert now stood before this golden aura he had seen. The song that pulled him all this way now was now at a crescendo, and it pleaded, begged, urged him to come forward. A memory stirred in him, and he took a few steps. The feelings of emotion were very strong this time; they spoke of a great lust and desire for power, and this light was the very embodiment of the magic necessary to gain it. Suddenly the light reacted. In one great motion it advanced like an ocean wave and washed the man along the floor of the room and began vanishing into him. His pulse raced and pounded throughout his frame as he lost consciousness. A loud splash outside awoke him some time later, and his mind slipped into a feral state.
A soaked and very lucky man of the forest now entered the room. His eyes widened at the sight of a giant creature that could be described as nothing less than a demon, which now stirred and lifted itself up to its full height. The words of the Elder reechoed in his mind. Go, and know that the fate of our people rests with you. The man drew his longsword and one of the orbs he had taken from the man in the cave. Whether to do or die, this creature would not live to plague the world to its destruction. Steeling his courage, he raced forward as the creature began charging to him with fists raised, ready to tear the earth asunder.

Suddenly, a great, oscillating shriek broke the air and seemed to tear the very fabric of Space itself. The image of this scene melted away as the one who called himself person13 awoke from the first dream to be conjured by his subconscious in months. With blurred vision, he stumbled from his bed to a small black box that read 4:30 A.M. and pressed a single button. The annoying noise was now gone, but to have a dream was unusual for him, much less such a one as had been displayed to him. He grabbed a pen, lifted a textbook from the floor that was open to a painting of The Tennis Court Oath, and began summarizing the information onto a sheet of paper as he contemplated the symbolism, if any, of his late-night fantasy.