InsaneJournal

who: miles and OPEN.
what: dreaming, and then exploring.
where: the apartment complex, specifically... that damned elevator that never quite goes to where it's supposed to!
when: late evening.
warnings: probably unnecessary.


It was much in the style of a lions growl having lazily secreted itself in between blades of sallow grass through the savanna floor; although the lightning was cast the thunder was invisible, and therefore could go unnoticed. Most unfortunate. A gallop of it rumbled and trumpeted against the neck of a smooth, dark sky. A snake in a pile of hoses to those who raised their noses. Miles was dreaming of the day he was born. When the sky decided to say hello, and the stars spilled their cups.


The dream shifted, as dreams often do, to another location entirely.

People, as they frantically weaved their ways this way and that through the maze of boxed, evening market streets, did not bother to watch out overhead for the inevitable whip crack line of white lightning. As it streaked its naked slenderness through the clouds, Miles noticed his vision was actually... much lower than usual. He was not standing the sturdy six feet he usually did. Odd. Was he a child in this dream? And where was he? He was thirsty. Maybe this dream had diet coke.

The cobblestone streets were lined with those attempting to sell this mornings bread, this mornings cake, this mornings fruit -- this mornings anything before calling it a night. Drunkards were already swerving out of taverns for a snack, singing songs about the revolution. Singing about the King getting married.

And Miles, although he felt the phantom vibration of the thunder rattling at the bottom of his ribcage, was just like the others. Not paying any attention; his brow was dotted with sequins of sweat, and his eyes narrowed in a secluded brand of determination. What puffy clouds there were, he'd noticed, blocked out the laughter of twinkling stars, and seemed as black seeds in the teeth of a Heaven that didn't exist.

The illumination of lightning once again, as he raised his chin to search for stars, flashed and fled as quickly as it had arrived. A mugshot for Zeus to remember him by. Immortalizing the curious and reverent look on his face, that in that fleeting moment was highlighted almost to a bony reflection of death's iniquity... it was not his face in his mind's eye.

And he awoke with a jolt.

Miles half expected rain with how the smell of the air he took in had an almost refreshing odor, and half yearned for it. The dream had left him longing, as most dreams are wont to do, and of course, curious. His past was a distance memory when awake, and the ghosts there haunting the hallways of his wrathful psyche usually summoned up images of rain. Some of the memories of the circus were pleasurable. Some were painful. Some he wanted to never forget, and some he hoped that one day he would lose with the withering affect that the mind has on remembrance.

Tossing the blankets off of him hurriedly and irate, the way one might if they detected the approach of a spider too small to cause alarm, he ejected himself from bed and was happy that his mind was not bent on being rewound. Instantly, the haze of not having slept quite enough eased and erased the impression of the dream--rubbing his eyes of course helped--helped to rid his confusion, and helped to make his vision even blurrier. He liked to have blurry vision. Seeing clearly was much overrated.

After gathering up his clothes, getting dressed, not checking the time, having a diet coke, and tying up his long hair into a pony tail to which he'd amended the look of with a fedora and feather, he'd decided to investigate the apartment complex further. His associates were likely running errands for him at this hour in some dark corner of the city, of which he'd throw light onto soon. There was no use dilly-dallying for long, since there was much business to attend to tonight. For now, he just wanted to see if the rest of the complex looked the way his did, or if there were better locations to aspire to once he stole that wondrous thing he had his eye on at the jeweler ...

As he entered the elevator, he pressed the button for the 4th floor. The elevator, having a familiarly musty smell, had a minor reflective surface which he was more interested in than the mirror itself, and he was able to see himself partly burnished within the golden trim of it. And having still been half awake, he'd reached for the effaced reflections cheek, elongated as it was and would be in a fun house, as if lifes bones were as misaligned and fattened as the false projection implied.

DING.

And he set out onto the... what floor is this? This isn't the 4th floor. Before he was able to turn around, the elevator had come to a close.