Take two pills and fall asleep. Those were the instructions on the package. A balm to soothe a troubled mind, the doctors had said. They seemed only too eager to hand them over. No problem was so complex that it couldn't be resolved with the right dosage. The world was bright and vibrant with colour, and sometimes their intensity could be overwhelming. The solution was to bleach them all out. To create a world that was too faded and muted to ever cause harm. After months spent living in a state of near-permanent blue, the prospect of relief from it made it seem worth trying. It was a misleading promise. The absence of blue was in almost every way worse, coming as at did at the costly price of the whole spectrum.
Even the nightmares the pills caused were in monochrome. Grey terrors of the mind, malformed and insubstantial but occurring with such regularity that it couldn't be merely imagination that they were a side-effect of the medication. They became familiar and reliable. The daylight hours increasingly felt like sleepwalking through a world of shadows, filled with sights that had once sparked emotion but now held no meaning. Headaches were frequent, but by now the body had become addicted. There was no telling what would happen if the pills weren't taken each night. It was for the best. It had to be for the best. Living with the dull ache in a transient world and embracing each nightmare as the only remaining reprieve from the all-consuming apathy.
The idea of recurring dreams never seemed possible until they happened. Symptoms of a subconscious trapped by itself. Only those who'd experienced what it was like to be caught in a recursive loop of the same sights and sensations endlessly for nights on end could relate to it. Distorted memories used as the canvass on which to paint each nocturnal hallucination. In all of them though, the same theme. Cars, trains, planes, boats and bikes. Movement and urgency. Running away from something that always seemed to be chasing. Being hunted by a figure always faintly visible in the distance no matter how far or how fast the retreat. Draped in robes and crowned with twisting horns, formless madness emerging from the folds of loose fabric as undulating tendrils.
For years the chase continued. A nightly game of cat and mouse perpetuated by the pills. Increasingly the nightmares would end just as the cloaked figure was about to close the distance. Escape could delay it but without fail it would return. It had to be confronted... perhaps it wanted to be confronted? That thought was like armour. It carried over into the next dream. The figure closed in, smelling of salt and honey, a chimeric amalgamation of horrific features cobbled together by a diseased mind. It spoke; not with words but with a colour. A streak of yellow that cut through the grey.
Yellow. Agitation, cowardice, malady and madness. A primal terror that broke through the malaise of the medication. Yellow. The brightness of a spring morning after the clouds of January. The glimmer of light at the bottom of Pandora's Box. Yellow. Energy where there had once been none. A flood of joy after a prolonged drought of the soul. Growing brighter; glistening, shimmering, shining in metallic hues.
Golden and sweet. For all the pitfalls of emotion, it simply felt so good to finally feel again. To truly live again.
*****
A wonderful little doodle from the amazing HolySeven that got upgraded into a full image! I don't get much black and white stuff, but I'm a sucker for contrasts and especially love how effectively they were used in old horror movie flicks.
Even the nightmares the pills caused were in monochrome. Grey terrors of the mind, malformed and insubstantial but occurring with such regularity that it couldn't be merely imagination that they were a side-effect of the medication. They became familiar and reliable. The daylight hours increasingly felt like sleepwalking through a world of shadows, filled with sights that had once sparked emotion but now held no meaning. Headaches were frequent, but by now the body had become addicted. There was no telling what would happen if the pills weren't taken each night. It was for the best. It had to be for the best. Living with the dull ache in a transient world and embracing each nightmare as the only remaining reprieve from the all-consuming apathy.
The idea of recurring dreams never seemed possible until they happened. Symptoms of a subconscious trapped by itself. Only those who'd experienced what it was like to be caught in a recursive loop of the same sights and sensations endlessly for nights on end could relate to it. Distorted memories used as the canvass on which to paint each nocturnal hallucination. In all of them though, the same theme. Cars, trains, planes, boats and bikes. Movement and urgency. Running away from something that always seemed to be chasing. Being hunted by a figure always faintly visible in the distance no matter how far or how fast the retreat. Draped in robes and crowned with twisting horns, formless madness emerging from the folds of loose fabric as undulating tendrils.
For years the chase continued. A nightly game of cat and mouse perpetuated by the pills. Increasingly the nightmares would end just as the cloaked figure was about to close the distance. Escape could delay it but without fail it would return. It had to be confronted... perhaps it wanted to be confronted? That thought was like armour. It carried over into the next dream. The figure closed in, smelling of salt and honey, a chimeric amalgamation of horrific features cobbled together by a diseased mind. It spoke; not with words but with a colour. A streak of yellow that cut through the grey.
Yellow. Agitation, cowardice, malady and madness. A primal terror that broke through the malaise of the medication. Yellow. The brightness of a spring morning after the clouds of January. The glimmer of light at the bottom of Pandora's Box. Yellow. Energy where there had once been none. A flood of joy after a prolonged drought of the soul. Growing brighter; glistening, shimmering, shining in metallic hues.
Golden and sweet. For all the pitfalls of emotion, it simply felt so good to finally feel again. To truly live again.
*****
A wonderful little doodle from the amazing HolySeven that got upgraded into a full image! I don't get much black and white stuff, but I'm a sucker for contrasts and especially love how effectively they were used in old horror movie flicks.
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fantasy
Species Goat
Gender Male
Size 1229 x 1229px
I don't suppose the phrase "you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man !" applies here ? ^^
Shocking twist reveal; the gingerbread man was popping pills all along.
There's a smile to bring a smile to my own face. Canthus truly does heal a great many ills~
You once used gobsmacked to describe a story of mine when we first met, my friend. I wish to now return the compliment. This, Sir, is first class writing, and I absolutely love what you've done with it. Smooth as silk and golden as the nectar you produce. Well done. Well done, indeed. :D
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