Who: Morpheus (Narrative) When: Friday morning Where: The front steps of a building somewhere in the city What: Morpheus is dreaming. Warnings: None - other than Morpheus being Morpheus. Status: Complete
There was no ignoring it.
Mortals passed him by, trailing wisps of dreams behind them, but still Morpheus’ eyes were fixed on the puddle at his feet. More than one person shot him a curious look as they climbed the stairs - one or two hesitated when he had not moved by the time they made their way down again. In the end, however, they left him alone. At least he was a quiet lost soul.
Their pauses and passing didn’t concern Morpheus in the least. The occasional remnant of dream would tug at him, but still he stared at the water, the tiny ripples looming large as waves in the ocean.
There was something about the water these days, something about its peace and fury that was captivating him. Waves, depths, blues and reflections. Home and not. Safety and danger. These were not his thoughts, his impressions. His own thoughts lay in the sky, in soft feathery touches that disappeared when he turned. Elusive.
Water and sky, and heat. Fire and sparks, the clash of metal. Blue, blue and black, darkness to sink hands into. Gleaming white and soft folds against steel.
He heard the shouts, saw the swift movements and fall of a blade until he realized he still sat before the puddle, watching it reflect the mortals who still passed.
To be lost was not unusual, but to be so fixed was, and Morpheus had no intention of letting it go on without thought. The realization of what it meant had crept slowly over him and now he knew, not all at once, but with no doubt left in his mind. It was just a question of what it was, really, and what to do about it, if anything. Whether to do something waking or sleeping. Two different lives, two different worlds. Different sides.