I did not sleep well Sunday night, even with the aid of alcohol running through my system. I’m not certain when the nightmares started, but they didn’t stop once they got going. Dark corridors, filled with stale air and an oppressive feeling of decay. Footsteps scuffed into the dirt, but they never lead anywhere. I can’t find the exit. Nothing but the damp, the cold, the decay, and the sensation of tons of earth above my head. Small hints, signs, but never a pathway that will lead me out of the dark. Or, I’m searching for someone. Searching for help. I’m panicking, because people are dying and I can’t do anything about it. I’m too weak. Too frail. I know there are people that can help me. I know where there should be, but I can’t find them. I can’t find them. I’m searching through a book, flipping page after page as I search for the answer to a question that I can’t quite form in my mind, but it seems so very important…
“Stop fighting. Look closer. You’re almost there.”
HOLY FUCKING SHIT! I woke up with a start, heart pounding, eyes straining in the dark for the voice that had breathed those words in to my ear. I’d have called on Eyes of the Eagle, but I just didn’t have the Gnosis for it. My reserves are too damn low. It makes me vulnerable. There was something in the dark with me, hiding in the corners, and the sky was only just beginning to lighten thanks to Helios. I panicked, threw off my bedsheets, shifted it to my raven form and scrambled outside via the cat-door I’d installed in the window above my bed.
I flew. Flew and kept on flying, until the sun was well up and I started to doubt what I’d ‘seen’.
It was well past noon when I returned to my apartment and poked my head inside. Bartok was there. He was pissed off, because I hadn't shared any breakfast with him.
Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me?