Back to Contents

The interaction with the snake left Solomon irritated. He walked along a trail overgrown with bright green roots and choked with bright pink weeds. His pace slackened the further he got away from the clearing, and he allowed himself to be taken in by the medley of brilliant colors. The neon forest distracted him for some time, drawing his attention to the wild shapes and colors of the flora. The plants and trees appeared far more flamboyant than their family members in the greenhouse.

Since he was unsure of the nature of his alarms, unsure of how much time remained to him in the dreamspace, and unsure of what direction to travel, Solomon slowed further to appreciate the plants in much the same way as his first visit to the greenhouse. The novelty of this neon forest soon wore away, however. His wonder waned and his concern returned and he began to move again with purpose.

He fought to clear his mind of the questions posed by the snake but kept returning to them nevertheless. With all his might, he worked to conjure images of the tower, but they slipped from his hold, replaced by incessant hissing.

What issss right? What issss wrong? Can wrong be right? Can right be wrong? When isss the right way the wrong way? When isss the wrong way the right?

The questions gripped tight to the parts of his mind doubtful of the state he in which he found himself. While he felt mostly confident in his course, in some respects he remained skeptical of this confidence. There was a deep underlying fear coursing through his mind, a fear becoming ever more profound with every change of scene. He did not know how to resolve the fear; he was, however, aware of its growth and felt powerless to stop it. Every shift not resolving into his direct approach to the tower resulted in a subtle increase in his anxiety. And now he had come face to face with a creature who toppled a great amount of the foundation upon which his confidence rested. He was being undone by a few simple questions.

Questions to which he had no answers.

The neon forest continued as he walked, never changing. The path was even, without incline or decline. The trees were spread out enough to allow sunlight to illuminate everything, but dense enough to keep Solomon from gauging the distance to the end of the forest, or even another clearing. Every time the snake's questions arose and he managed to dismiss them, they were replaced by the incessant fear he was walking across another infernal field or endless greenhouse. Dread would fill him at the thought of never arriving at the end of the forest and following this, the terror of considering he might be trapped in the dreamspace.

Solomon failed to recognize the subtle changes happening around him, so lost in the struggle to capture his own mind was he. The vibrant neon colors were giving way to more muted colors. Their variety was dissipating; the forest was becoming homogenous in appearance. The sweet smells were turning sickly. It wasn't until Solomon's foot plunged into a shallow pool of murky water did he pull his attention from out of his thoughts to observe the forest and what it had become: a bog.

Continued after the break

The trees were spread out and sat like canopies over the water, held up by their great big roots. Reeds and thistles poked out from the darkened water, crowding together in patches around the roots of the trees. When it hit him, the stench caused Solomon to double over, but he managed to keep from heaving. Bent over, he saw his one dry foot on an island of sand amidst a lake of water, and when he went to drive into it to pull his other foot out, the sand dissolved, causing his dry foot to sink and making him almost lose his balance. He considered how he could have made it thus far without feeling himself wade through the water, but he knew dreams had the peculiar feature of changing without any noticeable pattern; you could always find yourself in a different environment and not know how you arrived.

First the greenhouse, now the bog. Terror consumed him as he wondered if he would once again traverse the Infernal Field. He pushed down the terror as he had during his walk through the forest. The scenery had changed. He was somewhere else. He was not lost in a never ending forest. He could reasonably assume the bog would come to an end as well. This was a boon, one he could hold onto. With this small bit of reassurance and a sigh, Solomon continued forward, slogging through the muck.

He ducked under where the hard, gnarled roots of the trees crossed his path. In some cases, he was able to walk under them with no more than slight bend to his knees. He steered clear of the clumps of vegetation sprouting from the muddy water where all manner of insects congregated. He listened to the trees creak and groan, and the rippling water splash against their roots, sent and spread from his moving legs. He was on the lookout for the cluster of rocks where he came upon the stranger last time he was here, but no such cluster did he see.

How much farther would he would have to before things changed shape and he found himself in a different environment, Solomon wondered. He cursed himself for doing so; all the latent fears sprang to mind, and he found himself fighting to reassure himself, to dismiss the questions of the snake, and to keep moving forward. There was, however, no escaping the terror growing within. He tired of moving through water, of breathing in the stench, and this increasing exhaustion caused the Infernal Fields to spring to mind time after time. His breathing became ragged, and Solomon stumbled, barely catching hold of a root, saving himself from taking a mud bath.

Not that this was of any use. He took another step and his foot plunged further into the muck, breaking through the muddy floor. He lost his balance and fell in after it, twisting the ankle of his other leg as he did so. He threw his hands over head to attempt to swim back up, but it seemed the mud had closed over him. Frantic, Solomon drove his fingers into it in a desperate attempt to dig upward and pull himself out of the water, all to no avail. The mud under his fingers dribbled away, leaving him no purchase, only to suck itself back into place. His air was running out, and he wondered if it was true what they said about dying in a dream. The water began to swirl around him, and as his panic took over, he was sucked down into the depths in a giant whirlpool.

Back to Contents

Back to Contents