The confusion of what must have been sleep melted slowly. Ill-defined memories and recollections of his daily life melded alongside his thoughts of the dream. He was seemingly alone in his house, apparent as he moved through the various phases of readiness. His hands shook with focus over the stove as he boiled water for tea. Somewhere back in his mind, he had the strange sensation of unfamiliarity above the stove and a certain fear of the flames inside, but as the thought began to take hold it slipped away and he felt only the irritation of forgotten words and residual sick lurches in his belly. He finished then left the tea, dusting ash off of his hands on the way.
He left his house, realizing in wonderment how much warmer it had been than the summer burning outside. His feet wandered with automation down the cobbled streets towards the tavern. The familiar smell of wood and churatas wafted over his face. Strangely, the bar was empty, except for one shrouded figure behind the counter. He stopped and stared. The wriggle of recognition fought hard here, and a sudden desperation to know reared high then descended into blackness. Only then did he realize he had been drooling. He wiped his mouth dry and looked back to the figure but it was gone. Somehow feeling subdued by the absence, he departs.
He stumbled out this time, the light brighter and unforgiving as it stared down at him. His sweat clung the tunic to his back already, and he moved quickly down the street as he wiped the stickiness of his palms onto his shirt. As he blindly pushed his way into the city hall, the strangest pang of remorse stabbed through his chest. He struggled to grasp this emotion and comprehend it, but it too fell away, and he simply stood in the doorway, staring at the stained white marble surrounding him. Wave after wave of this feeling Suddenly he heard voices and realized there was movement happening all around him, muted sounds in his direction - people. Fearful of the sudden noise, he tried to sprint from the hall. Unsteady feet tangled and threw him head-first to the ground, but he picked himself up and continued running hard until long after the voices seemed to die down.
He was nearly choking for breath when he found himself standing before his guildhall. This place, more than the pub or even home had, he felt lost. A mirror stood near the door and his reflection stared back and him and gave a pale-faced frown as their twin eyes met. In that second, anxiety and weakness shuttered he began to panic. Here too, something was wrong, here too, he could find no relief. He sank to his knees then to his rear, feeling himself being shredded by the confusing and powerful growths of emotion from him. The thoughts were boiling in his mind yet slipping away constantly at his focus. Every sensation blended into one steady throb in his stomach that pounded like a heartbeat. Wondering if he were dreaming - or, indeed, dead - he held his stomach, groaned in agony, hot tears carving his cheeks, his focus hard on the thought struggling its way into his consciousness.
That feeling of darkness consumed him again and this time he slid in willingly, knowing just from the tingling and warmth that finally he would find peace from these gnawing certainties that something was - ???. As that peace failed to find him, he slumped to the ground. Conscious or otherwise, distantly he remembered he had a wife and daughter. Even further was the realization that he missed his wife and daughter.
Even further than that he remembered fearful sounds and shouting and angry and affectionless hands in fists the fire in the stove stoked high laughing and screaming a whiskey bottle chugged smashed and brandished the barkeep's yell then fall and his teenaged daughter following his wife's stains on the marble that unknown gaze from those familiar eyes his tired back and the tumult of rage and regret before and during and especially after and after and after and after and after the eruptions of endless emotions was the aftershock and silence quantifying the residual ruin left by the residually ruined. At least he'd always have his family after those awful days.
His stomach clenched again and he puked down his front. In the last blink between life and sleep, those thoughts, too, slipped graciously away from him.
Penned by my hand on the 25th of Ultio, in the year 96 AM.
