I clawed the sleep from my eyes. My eyes adjusted through the fog of the dreary nightmare that I was entrapped in.

A spinning purple disk hovered near the ceiling, giving off an awfully annoying grinding noise. It glowed and snowed shining flakes from its edges. The snow, or whatever it could have been, had covered a good deal of the floor. Caking it in a purple blanket.

A small, bony man hung his head in a wooden chair. Drawing breathes slowly, mumbling to himself. He had hardly any clothes on, except for a pair of tattered jeans that hung loosely around his frail hips.

I picked myself up and brushed off a thick coating of purple debris from my person. I softly stepped closer to the old man, who hadn't seemed to of noticed me. I gently lent out a kind hearted gesture with my hand to the, old codger.

"Are you all right, sir?" I questioned softly. He lifted his head and faced me blankly. Sagging lines and wrinkles lain his face, deep grey rings of colour bleached the skin under his eyes.
He licked his lips and coughed quietly, trying to fix upon my figure with his drooping eyes.
"Death is an illusion." The old man said. The words had slithered out of his mouth with struggle.

I dropped one eyebrow and sat up, thinking curiously. I craned over the old man' shoulders. Spools of hair covered in purple were coiled up in mountains behind his old chair, growing out of the sides of his polished dome.
"How can it be an illusion?" I began. "It's quite simple, really. We are born; we grow old, and then die. The ends of our existence." But this guy... He'd been like an old stain. Too bloody stubborn to live or die, no matter how hard you scrubbed.

He bent back in his chair and sat a little straighter, causing an avalanche of purple snow to roll down the slopes of his thin shoulders.
"Is that what you think?" He said, pouting his lips at me. "You think it just stops existing then and there. We go poof, then everything is nevermore?" he crumpled his eyebrows and stared at me with hints of anger.

I took a step back and showed a glimpse of worry in my eyes. I tried to think up on a way to defuse the situation. You know how old folk are in their ways. If you say something that wasn't around in their days, they'd complain about how terrible it is and how their methods were crudely more accurate and better in their generation. Nothing came to mind, sadly.

"I'll show you. Oh yes, I'll show you real good." The old spindly little man said, frowning angrily. He struggled to his feet, bracing his hands against the sides of his chair, hoisting himself up in tremors that shook his skinny body. He stood shaking. Sweat beaded down his brow as he concentrated on his balance.
"You wouldn't like to hurt yourself old man. You'd better just si- "Shut up!" The old man quacked, dribbling slightly.

He struggled a fleshy arm up into the air. He pointed shakily to the purple disk, grinding away merrily, spitting chunks of glowing, purple snow.
"Do you know what that is?" He said quickly, glaring at me.
"No. But, it's bloody annoying." I said looking in a puzzled stupor. The old man puffed his cheeks and clenched his fist against his side. He breathed heavily out his hairy nostrils.

"That is Soul Disk." The man said. "Every living thing converges upon this very point. A point where reality is skewed, memories forgotten, and lives begins anew."

My mind was blanked. Even more so than it ever was, which was quite often. My mouth opened slightly and I lifted my eyebrows full stretch.
"So, you're telling me. People don't really die? They just end up being on a, big purple disk, grinding away, like teeth on glass? If you'd ask me, I hope I never die."
"Yes." The old man huffed. He pointed over and swayed a little, setting his sight on the floor. "See this? All of this snow, is nothing but a by-product of the physical mind of the Outer dimension." He said, swallowing hard. Making his eyes water slightly.

I stood firmer, lowering my brows and twisting my lips. Gaining further ground in this new mind blowing situation. It was like smashing two metal hammers together of the same density. Seeing if they would truly shatter in your face.

I looked at him in bewilderment in a moment. Suddenly, my brain sparked into life.
"If this is where the souls of the deceased go. Then why. Why am I here?" I said questioning. The man shrugged uncertainly with a blank look.
"I don't know." He said.
"Ok then..." I said slightly bemused. "Then why are you here then?"
The old coot jerked slightly and smirked. It was either a slight heart attack, or he was chuckling.
"I'm the Smith of Dreams." He grinned with a set of rotten teeth. Or ten, or thirte- Forget it, he had at least three.

End of thy chapter... 1

"Yarrgh" I blabber incoherently as I try to grab the air around me. I tried to smite the very air around me with my clenched fists. As it was choking with a benign pink haze. It was confronting, menacing in fact.

A man stepped roughly through the haze and waved a single dazzling arm, showering in stars. I was drawn to this man's illumination, like a moth to a flame.
"Come with me, my boy. I will show you the universe." he said, holding out his shining hand, gesturing for me to take hold. I clenched tightly around his hand, struggling to find meaning in this confusing room of mists. The room shook, the sounds of gushing winds arose from the deepest recesses of reality. Or strangely enough, what seemed to be real. The pink haze was blown afar into the corner, solidifying into a solid pink lump of swirling sludge, then it sank through the cracks of a set of metal tiles, showing a rather lustrous sheen. Just before that sludge had sunk away, I think I seen something. A face? No, of course not.

I turned to the man who had a firm grip around my hand. He nodded slightly and peered up into the ceiling. His beard was quite a jungle. You could of lost your own dog within the tides of furious hair. The room once again shook. The floor suddenly fell underneath me into the abyss. The roof collapsed in upon itself, then spun around into a central point, until vanishing, which made a rather high pitched "Ting". The sky beckoned with the thousand crazed faces of clowns, pasty faces with no distinguishable features. They laughed manically, pushing their way into view, staring down provocatively. A plethora of dark pasty hands rose up from the dark abyss far below. They stretched like elastic, straining to reach for their prize.

Before they had the chance to claim me, the man pushed off of the thin air with his feet. I was wrenched skywards past the manic faces, off into the skies far above. A brilliant trail of starlight was left in the old man's wake, that poured out of his slippers. All was black, it was sophisticating me more so than the pink haze. Wind swept across my clothes, making me furiously cold. The old man didn't flinch a muscle. His eyes half open, squinting through the darkness. His ridiculous looking nightcap, with a fluffy pompom swaying frantically in the winds. Slapped him constantly in the face, but never once annoyed his being.

Light suddenly burst through the darkness. Trails of clouds dispersed as we emerged from within its dark depths. Moonlight magically shone over the clouds, lacing them with silver. Thick fields of glowing plants lined the surface of the moon, swaying like grass in a gentle breeze.

The bearded man pointed towards a moon bathed island, grazing gently across the clouds. Thick weeds dangled down craggy rock. Gently being kissed by a harsh south wind, hallowed oaks swayed in elegance among raspberry bushes and brambles. We gingerly set back down on solid ground, within a clearing of soft, dew touched grass.

Two sets of roots were razed through the dirt, smoothly topping off just a metre out of the ground, resembling stools. They grew out either side of a tree stump, that had a elegant cheeseboard carved along the top of its base. Platinum chess pieces shone brightly in the nights luminance, each standing idly, waiting for their solemn commanders.
"Shall we?" The old man suggested. He walked over to one end of the chess board and sat down on the earthen stool. I sighed with a smirk and joined him.

Deep in thought and strategy. We pondered through our moves, taking turns in piercing silence. Knights rose and fell on the mighty board of life and kingdoms. Ages rose and fell in the slightest breath of time. One eye blinked. I was surrounded with stone, we were humble statues, gracing our presence with our nimble dreams of being, more than stone.

Run, my Princess.

In a dark tower perched upon shadowing cliffs of interlocking, impassable stone. A helpless princess cries out to her seldom prince who will rescue and sweep her off her feet, taking her far away from the chilled, bony clutches of the dark menace, Lur'thut.

The cold stung the air as horse hoofs bellowed down an old cobble path. The horse wheezed deeply and mist rose from its nostrils. A varied selection of grappling hooks, crossbows, swords and daggers of shining brilliance jangled about the satchels on either side of the horse's saddle.

A shield lay strapped upon the back of a fearless combatant, decorated with an array of fleeting dragons and golden leaf motif, A man in full confidence, wearing his mighty suit of polished iron and feathered helmet covering a stern face, gazing deeply into the fog looming over the castle.

No time must be wasted, he thought as he flung him self off of his horse, crouching at the base of the perilous mountain, which seated the mighty tower. He brushed his hand firmly across the horse to calm its creeping nervousness, in the eerie, dank mists. He pushed his hand deep into the satchel and retrieved a series of daggers, a well-balanced sword that shone in the cowering moonlight of the skies, a grappling hook attached to a good thirty feet of rope and a crossbow.

He packed it all away in a series of leather straps and climbed the jagged cliffs with all his determination, ascending to his final confrontation with, Lur'thut, dark lord of mists. Hefty spikes attached to the souls of his boots allowed him to scale quite a height, until he had reached an unreachable overhang of rocks. He hugged the stone that smelt of tin and damp moss and readied his crossbow. An explosive trigger rocketed the claw skywards into the thick mists latching onto something solid. He climbed in short jerks, like a snake for a brief moment until a sudden, yet rather incredibly strong force yanked the rope up through the mists and flung the man up and over the overhang. He gripped firm and clinched his teeth has he was suddenly brought down on solid ground.

A troll with monolithic arms and a chiselled body built like a train stood before the hunched man, snarling like a ferocious animal. It's arms hung over the man, readying to pulverise his brittle bones. He dived and rolled out of the way as the arms plundered through the bricked ground, quaking the area about, toppling statues and garden pots. A slither of metal drew from its sheath; a stance was erected and perched for combat. The troll flew around and leaked slobber from its disgusting teeth unto the ground. A flurry of daggers met its right cheek, forcing it to clutch in agony. Now was the time to strike. A thick and vicious slice met the troll's throat in a frenzied dash. The man leapt upon the beast's back and wrapped his legs around its head, then drove his sword through the back of its head. It clumsily tried to clutch its wounds as it dropped and crashed over a ceramic garden pot.

The man leapt up from his victory and dashed forth. A cackle echoed into the polished halls of golden flooring with a mirror like reflection, giving audience to cold white marble pillars as the man burst through the doors.
'The princess is mine fool. She shall never be yours, as long as I live' Lur'thut bellowed. The voice was close, yet it was untraceable.

He readied his blood caked sword and wearily crept along the dimly lit halls of crimson candles. A snort of snot erupted from behind the hero. He pivoted around and crouched with amazing reflexes, yet it was not enough. Lur'thut tried for a cleaving blow with his lance, but narrowly missed, slicing a thin strain of flesh from his victims arm, ripping through the armour. He collapsed to the sullied tiles. Lur'thut cackled and snorted as he approached. His hideous pig like features was insulting to the man's teary eyes. A grim smile rippled across Lur'thut's fat lips. He stabbed his lance through the air, yet missed and sparked across the tiles. He fell upon the sword of the fair prince that was held clumsily in his shaking grip, impaling him grimly. He then ran up the stairs of a fluffy ruddy coloured carpet leeching up the steps, moth ridden and tattered.

He charged up the steps and forced his way through the clumsy wooden door, sick with rot and age. With his mighty shield he broke through into a small bedchamber. It smelt vile; a terrible scent of bacon wafted in his nostrils. His fair maiden had heard of the cries down stairs, and wept tears of joy to see her prince still alive.

The prince wrapped his arms around her tightly, whispering gingerly in her ear 'You're safe now.'
_______

Carnal Satisfaction
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In a small remote town, not to far away from a desert beseeched in scorching sands and peculiar lizards that you could get a rather exhilarating experience if licked quite furiously.

Jomar, a man born into a highly religious family, was forever forcefully sworn into abstinence by their families command. After marriage, he was still bound to such a contract. Never to taste the sweet embrace of the one he may find to love. He wasn't even allowed to preform any sort of carnal sexual fantasy or technique ever conceived when he was alone.

The sun shone through a set of sun-bleached blinds, in a terribly constructed house. It was falling apart. Cracks and peeling flakes of earth dotted about the rooms, a rather large opening formed near the kitchen, allowing a family of mice to settle in. Mud wasn't exactly the best material to be making a darn house out of, but rain hardly fell in this dry arid region. So, no fear was given of the towering two floored house that may of melted all around Jomar, drowning them both in their sleep if rain did decide to rear its insidious face.

Squinting eyes greeted the new mourn. Groaning and sluggish undead like movement, hauled itself out of the bed, while trying not to rouse a sleeping spouse. For, swift death and hollow screams shall billow forth, if the slumbering wife figure was to rouse. Or so he'd imagine.

His wife wasn't the most loving really. Probably to do with something concerning a certain practice. It's no wonder she hasn't left him already and moved on to new heights of delight. Even though, that gardener that attends to the cactuses out the front of the house seems to dive in and out of windows quite a lot, whenever he sees him coming back.

Chunks of dirt were kicked up or even stuck to the souls of his feet as he cumbersomely walked in a half dazed delirium, down the stairs to the kitchen. He nearly lost his footing as a large chunk of mud had dislodged from the stair case and rolled rather loudly down the rest, ending in a thunk against the wall. Not much notice was taken has he shuffled into the kitchen and grabbed a hold of the ice chest's handle. (an ingenious invention to say the least. Small little creatures that resemble trolls with pale blue skin that breath snow, held in a convenient cage made of solid bronze and a easy slide out cleaning tray.)

Jomar winched out a icy wooden crate by a cold rope strap caked in frost, and carelessly dumped it on his mud laden table. The little trolls barked obscene words of anger in their frost bitten tongue, at the unanimous face of Jomar who slammed the ice chest closed. He then went outside squinting in the sunlight, walking over to an old rubbish looking shed that may as well have looked identical to his house. He bent back the wooden doors, creaking rather loudly from the rusted hinges and strode on in, collected a wooden bucket ridden with holes, with tiredness still resting in his eyes, he knelt down. mad howls of goats began has he tried to milk, but to no avail. A thick, hairy skull with two curvy horns ploughed its way across a surprise stricken face, kicking and running off into the back of the shed then suddenly retreating to tears, kneeling upon some straw.
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Innocent Dreamer

Once every hundred years or so. A tree, beautiful in nature, crisp golden leaves and strong empowering roots that dig deep down through the earth that clasps its foundations, rendering it immobile.

Life that it was given, is far different from its own siblings and parents. A life of dreaming. A young sapling becomes aware of the joy of growing. Seeing its self towering over its neighbours, growing a sturdy trunk and fluttering arms adorned in leafy luminance. It dreams of what creatures may one day visit it. It may be birds, squirrels, a magnificent plethora of dazzling insects of exotic shapes and curious colours, and even strange indulgent creatures from the land of man.

Every form of growth it takes is not a sway of nature. It is of ones own soul and its ever growing desire to branch forth into the future.

Had a dream of an L.E.D flat-screen T.V setting vacantly in an open expanse. Nothing played, except for a vibrant array of static colours sitting idly on its screen.