It is dark.

This space is too big. Far too big

there is nothing to look at, nothing of note to distinguish, nothing to project that could stretch to the horizon of the subconscious. The equivalent of being blind, except that it’s the case. It’s not one of those hyperboles where the night engulfs the whole of one’s vision. It is truly too dark.

In the middle of this space, in this lack of light, lies a young man. How do we know how it is a young man in such pitch black darkness?

Because out of no where, by miracle, a light source of unknown origin exposes said young man, bald, darkskinned, attached to chains that spreads themselves in the infinite nothing of this space. The beginning of the light source seems to not even exist. It disappears with the rest of whatever lies behind the void.

The young man wears a torn pair of jeans, battered with a military-green with multiple shades of the same color tainting the jeans, giving it airs of camouflage pants. He doesn’t wear boots, exposing his feet sullied by the blood that dried on the ground.

A mixture of scars, both feeble and horrendous, spread across his body. From simple cuts on the chest to open bleeding wounds on his arms and legs.

The ground is hardwood floor, hidden by the limits undiscovered by the jet of light surrounding him.

The illuminated space is vast enough that te young man could be the size of a newborn from a certain distance. He is small in this cluster of light. It is still not enough to guess what could be hiding behind this curtain of infinite black.

Infinite is the right word. The darkness stretches onto the unknown.

The black man’s consciousness is weakened. The chains claws on his wrists. His physique is meager. The nothingness burns his eyesight. He is exhausted. Whatever who or what chained him down, it zapped all of his life source. 

Then, out of nowhere, he hears a poem.

« De chair en os et d’os en chair

Tomber en amour avec couleur du ciel

Crier meurtrier dans le fossé des cauchemars

Partager souffrance avec démon des sables »

The shorts bursts of free verses, spoken in a language he doesn’t immediately understand, traverse the stage scene of the young man like an echo, a broken melody. A sensation stings his body. At first, it’s a curiosity, an energy that pushes him to remain conscious.

Rapidly, panic surges, when the free verses screeches as it unfolds deeper and deeper. It worsens as it gets faster, ascending in a crescendo of absolute nothing.

The speech haunts the young man, now fully awake. He’s spastic, staring at everything, as the chains suddenly tightens his grip on him. His wrists are shouting in agony. The wounds are bleeding, much slower then what a wound this disgusting should bleed. The fear settles inside of the young man, who begins to scream, crying.

“Somebody! Please help me! I beg of you! Somebody come and save me! I need help! For the love of god don’t leave me alone in this darkness!”

He starts to fight back, swinging back and fourth in a wild fashion. He’s trying desperately to get up, but chains begins to snatch his ankles shut. He’s unable to move his legs in any meaningful manner. His breathing is scarce, afraid. Fully taken aback by the grandiose macabre of his fate, he wants to cry, letting out all his rage and suffering in one shot. 

He cannot. It’s too hard. He doesn’t understand why is this happening to him.

It’s at this moment that a sound, glaucous and powerful, plays in the shadows. It snaps in an ear-piercing noise all the barriers of this world. 

In the darkness, a few footsteps approach the man. Footsteps of Goliath. Every steps shakes the ground. The chains and his body resonate with each rumbling. The footsteps bears fruit.

It enters the young man’s light.

A bipedal creature, it’s forms and curves hidden behind the shadows, presents itself in the joust.

A massive creature. Too massive.

The structure of it’s head looks like a pyramid. It’s still too vague, too incomprehensible. The prisoner cannot discern where are it’s eyes. It’s over thirty feet tall. The young man should be breaking his neck in order to take in the full scope of this monstrosity. The tranquille horror of this eldritch being breaks every bit of sanity that remains in the prisoner, as he’s screaming once more:

“Nono! No please! Get the fuck away from me! D-Don’t get any closer! Please stop!!”

The young man is breaking his body trying to escape his chains, trying to escape the inevitable.

The creature doesn’t waste time.

It bends over in four.

It positions it’s gigantic head on top of the man, blocking the light source. 

Seeing nothing anymore, the man screams endlessly

The pyramid head, in one shot, runs his teeth through it’s prey.

“HELP !!”

***

The young man wakes up in a flash, a terrified yell leaving his mouth.

Pause.

The black man is still in his bed (a really comfortable bed in fact). His room is bathing in the bit of nocturnal light that seems to germ from the window to his right. He looks behind him. He can’t quite recognize the poster of a famous author and the few books preserved in a library near his bedframe. 

He sits there a moment, waiting for the certitude that he’s back in the realm of the living. This kind of nightmare hits the brain like a truck, and the overwhelming rush of questions doesn’t help the system. Curiosity and terror are a lot closer than we think.

The young man takes inventory of his condition. No wounds on his arms or wrists. His body is intact. Unlike the dream where he was about a slim as a pencil, he is lean and muscular, the appearance akin to the old statues of forgotten philosophers.

The one mark that remains on his chest is the great slashing scar that resides on his torso. This one’s the usual suspect, nothing new here. The rest was just figment of his terrible imagination…

…and imagination that rewinds a little too much for his taste.

The young man facepalms, frustrated.

“Goodness. I’m gonna need a specialist real soon. The poetry books are out of the table.”

dumbfounded, he resigns himself to leave his bed and look closely at the alarm clook sitting on a desk next to his window. A small numerical clock that dictates time in big scarlet red numbers.

4h30 AM.

“You’ve gotta be kidding. Waking up this early. Feels like I only got an hour of sleep. Oh well screw me then. Guess I’m starting my day right now while the moon is still up.”

And so, even with heavy bags in eyes, the young black and bald man takes the bull by the horns and starts his day sooner then he thought he would ever begin. It’s not what his heart desires the most or anything, but in this crucial moment of his life(to which he has no idea), starting such day on the right foot is of utmost importance!

Which is why he goes back to sleep.