Septem

"Sleepyhead... Wake!"

Was he still alive? That was the question which leaped at him. He wasn't sure. He couldn't be. He had succumbed to gullible gloom.

Where was he? What happened after he had been hired by drooling darkness. He couldn't be sure. His thoughts were burnished in rage.

He was enraptured by callous confusion. He allowed himself to be. His eyes were still shut. He was afraid of opening them.

He didn't know what he would look like. The thought of it scared hampered hell outta him. He was just a pawn of time. He had always been.

Every human has always been. Some would simply admit, while some would keep telling lanky lies to themselves.

They'll keep draping their guts in lured lies. That was hell of a business he wouldn't trade. He knew that he would have to open his eyes.

He wouldn't run from the fact. The voice which had called him seemed familiar but was quite remote also.

His soul was being battered by gaunt gloom and rusty reality. He had no idea of which to give in to.

While in one, he didn't know what he was, but in the reality of course he would have an idea what had been happening.

He tried to make a list of things he had seen in his gloom. He tried to sweep the smithereens of ideas or inky informations into a whole, but he simply couldn't help it.

He seemed to be blank. That was not only annoying, twas nauseating. He kept shuffling his thoughts and marred memory for pleasant ideas, but all were for naught.

All were tantamount to naught. He gave up. At least he was supposed to be able to make some meaning of some of the things he had seen, but hmmm hmmm, nothing was available.

There were quite the numbers of semantics tied to that. He was too week to start making such hypotheses.

He could spare some, he knew, but were they worth it. He tried concentrating the last time probably something would make a stance in mental hemisphere, yet, there was nothing to snap at.

He resumed the stance he had recently dropped. And even at that moment, that felon fear snapped at him.

He couldn't resist the urge and wouldn't confide in the gloom which had nothing for him. He bruised the fear delicately, then shunned, but it came mocking his grits.

He tried again and his eyelids succumbed. Did he still have eyes? He wasn't sure, but he need to be.

He snapped at cloned courage and tossed felon fear into grotesque gloom.

What he opened his eyes to was unprecedented. But he needed to be sure if he was still using his eyes.

He flipped his eyelids again as though they were pages of books. They conformed with all arts he tossed them by.

He moved his hands which had been by him since forever and they also conformed. He wanted to touch them to the eyes to be sure if he was yet sane or the bird-fishes had sucked his acumen out.

Of course there was nothing impossible in the world of fantasy. As he wanted to move the left hand, his attention was smothered.

He knew what it was. Of course he did. No he didn't. He wasn't sure what feeling was right or wrong any more.

Whatever the fishes had done to him was in no way pleasant. He wouldn't be so mad for that course.

He allowed the new feeling to be enthroned. It had its way and his apt acumen came alive again.

He hadn't felt anything close to that before. It was as soft as the wool of some of the lambs he used to breed. He was laying of course.

But what he was laying on was quite soft. Softer than the berth he used to sleep in back on earth.

The position he was caught up in was pleasant but he needed to be sure what was happening. He felt the thing he was laying on again to be sure of what he was feeling.

Of course he was right. Twas damn soft. He knew what that feeling was, though he didn't know what was happening.

His head was braced by a piece of long cloth stocked with the same material or element he was sleeping on. Back on earth, while sleeping, he used to brace his head with some of the clothes or robes he had dedicated to such use.

But there was something strange about that. About the new everything. Everything which had been happening in his fantasy always caught him in surprise.

He had never been prepared for one of them. Probably twas because he was some hibernated douchebag. And then a new question of course dethroned the thought he had been nursing.

If he would find answer to the new question, then other things would obviously be addressed. He was so sure of that.

His feeling told him something right for the first time since his supposed resurrection from the gloom.

Where was he? That was the question! Was it another phase of the world of fantasy? Was it another face of misery?

Was it another stage? Like he was playing some dimwitted games? All he had on him were mere questions. There was no answer.

And to that extent, he was yet a pawn. Wherever the new place he was was, he knew that twas never the hall that they used to be. Was it his house?

No! Of course not. He knew what he had in his house. The atmosphere inveilglng or permeating his house was wild back on earth.

Then where was he? There was no answer to the questions. Where was the Leviathan? Where was Poseidon?

He really wished that he had left the watch of both the crazy Poseidon and his annoying pet which could not save him.

Well there was a blessing in that curse. If the Leviathan had saved him, then he might not be in that comfortable position he was.

He resumed the thought he had dumped earlier and tried to run his hands across his face to know if they were truly his eyes or some stray.

Then a familiar voice devoured the act:

"Yes they are your eyes! Sit up and I'll walk you through what happened."

Holy shit! Twas Poseidon. He would never return to earth!

.