“Walk with me,” said the writer, and the protagonist followed. Through the rise and fall of springy paper hills, they walked, and they dreamed.
The writer pointed. Beyond, a young girl was eating herself alive, clipping away whole fingers between her teeth, bloodless and clean like fleshy carrots. The protagonist looked away.
“You must look,” said the writer. Like stepping stones they trod over lines of text, careful to avoid the white cracks between.
The protagonist looked. A man was swimming, swimming, and a woman was calling his name, and he never turned back.
“Why?” asked the protagonist.
“Because I dreamed it,” said the writer.
They watched a vision of clouds in the shape of wolves savaging a band of sword-wielding men. They watched a woman speared by antlers. They watched a man drowning in sand while snails fell from the sky. Prisoners huddled in a cage of ice. A hanged woman dangled while a man delivered her squalling child. A suicidal man confessed his sins to a revolver. A shadow walked away from its dead master. Murder. Madness. Cannibalism. Torture. There was always torture.
“I don’t want you to dream me,” said the protagonist, shaking.
“There is good in my mind, too,” said the writer, though he did not sound convinced. “There is joy and friendship and…” Instead of love, he said, “Adventure.”
“I don’t want it,” said the protagonist. “It’s not worth it. I don’t want it.”
But it was too late, and the writer knew it, and the protagonist knew it. They were there. They were dreamed.
Day 254’s three random prompt categories were, “Nonfiction,” “Cannibalism,” and, “Dreamers.”
It’s a complicated relationship between writer and protagonist. Can you identify all the other prompt stories in here?