Even as a young foal,
I had a relatively happy life.
That is, however, before the nightmares.
I often find myself having trouble sleeping at night, being a musician, my peers often simply shrug it off as "Creative insomnia", as one would expect from an overactive imagination.
What I don't tell them, is the dreams i have when i finally do fall asleep.
I dream of, them.
Who, or what they are, i'm not entirely certain, what I do know, is that they are born from darkness.
Pure, absolute, darkness.
From the darkest recesses of your mind, the deepest wells and caves, they find their way back into our world.
And through our blackest nightmares.
The term "void" is a bit overused in our culture nowadays, but it is however, the one i find the most accurate.
because from what i know of them, they come from a place such as this, a realm between plains of existence, where the fabric of reality itself, is laid exposed, and raw.
it is from this fabric that everything is given form, you, me, the electronic signals processed by the CPU in your computer that form the text you are currently reading, everything.
Everything, but them.
These freakish beings that walk on two legs. and have two long spindly arms that dangle alongside them, their long, crooked claws twisting, and pulling on the strings that this fabric is made of.
they are able to perceive, and thus, manipulate this fabric as it really is, because they exist outside of it, they ignore our laws of physics, because they do not apply to them.
And because of this, they enter our world, and consequently,
my nightmares.
I know I can't be the only one that has these dreams, and i'll do my best to describe them.
I stand alone, in pure unimaginable darkness, so much more than merely the absence of light, however it's almost as if the darkness itself, is a form of light or rather "negative" light.
It has to be, because in these recurring dreams, my eyes bleed from the intensity of the dark, and my body trembles from the cold that it brings. As if the darkness itself is alive, it seeks to invade my very soul. Burning, and enveloping my form, much like a poison, or toxin invading the bloodstream, wreaking havoc on everything it touches.
but that's not all, I hear things as well.
They whisper to me.
They speak in languages that sound like wispy gibberish. Yet, despite never hearing anything remotely close to this dialect, i can somehow understand.
They tell me that reality is much like a pond, you have The Air above, the divine, or elevated forms of existence. Places, like what we call heaven, hell, Valhalla, the ether, whatever you choose to believe.
Next we have The Water, the physical plain, where everything we are familiar with, earth, the universe, ALL universes reside.
It is here that the space in between these places, the "void" also calls home.
And finally, there is The Mud.
A vague, and dark place, where all places forgotten, or simply abandoned by time, goes to die.
Here, the laws of reality do not apply, as the fabric that makes up the decaying physical realm, begins to unravel.
It is here where everything also has its beginning. We all start off in The Mud in one life or another, even the divine.
But only from learning, and growing to understand the world around them, can anything begin to make it's way into the water.
The ascension, it is called.
