Day One Hundred and Eighty-Five

Day 185: 02 Feb 2011

Dreaming. Or at least I think I am. If I'm alive, I'm dreaming. If I'm dead, the afterlife fucking sucks.

I dream that I'm missing an arm. The God of the Seas yanked it off with one of his many tentacles; the blood was everywhere. The pain was nowhere near as bad as it should have been.

I dream that Jared is alive, locked inside his nearly useless body. He's slowly slipping away, the slug long dead but still leaking poison into his system. My poison. The poison I deployed to kill him.

I dream that Cassie floats above all of us, saddened and frustrated by our inability to kill the God of the Seas. It's over now. There's nothing more she can do except watch as he raises his armies and destroys the human race.

I dream of the God of the Seas. He swims happily, the damage I dealt him already fully repaired. He has beaten us, and not even broken a sweat. He's won; we've lost.

And, inexplicably, I dream of the house I grew up in -- no electricity, no indoor plumbing. That's exactly what this feels like. This dream, or this passing on into the afterlife -- sitting in a dark, ancient Cracker house in the North Florida summer heat.

Finally, I dream of blackness -- no images, no sounds. Just a black, final title card covering everything.