3 May 2012
This time I swear it felt like stepping through. Like I knew where I was going, like I knew I was aware. Because I am. Dread was a new companion as previously I believed I had been dreaming but my film showed I wasn't there. So I must be here but where is that?
I had been here before, sometimes that had happened, not always. That only added to my previous panic and wonder at the capability of my dreaming state. Now I felt more in control, that I could seek out answers and rid the visits to this loathsome landscape.
I was stood on very small, very uneven cobbles that made up a narrow lane. It wound downwards and as it did the houses either side seemed to lean in as if gossiping dirty rumours. For they were filthy, old in style, Tudour? Jacobean? Painted in fairly odd hues of pink, greys and blues as if a slightly disturbed child had coloured them in. I walked on, keeping all my wits about me, my eyes peeled and my senses sharpened.
I felt the houses were empty and was reluctant to assure the fact so I kept on going downwards. This lane had no twists, turns or offerings of other paths, I kept on, all the while drawing up past knowledge from films, books, stories and pictures. Now that I knew surely something would happen now? Where was the secret book that told me what to do? The person on the other side destined to be my guide and turn this into a wondrous journey of self discovery. Where I arrived at the end, triumphed, a hero and with a well honed set of powers? Or a family member realised I had come of age and set me on the path to enlightenment? No? What a surprise! Cordi Greene in it alone, what amazing luck! Good job I was so bloody resilient. The lane ended abruptly but I was not hugely surprised that it had took me to the clock that wasn't a clock. Though through the never ending silence I spied a house. No different from the rest that collected round the town square, except. Except this one, a dirty pale blue colour had its door open. Not only open. But swinging. Swinging as if someone had just entered. Entered or left...
No Title...part 8 • Opuss № I