I dream of a darkness deeper than the sky on a moonless night, a blackness so deep it creeps...
[MCU/???] Dreams in Darkness
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1.
I dream of a darkness deeper than the sky on a moonless night, a blackness so deep it creeps across the world like a fog. It's the kind of darkness that you can't even see, not really, because seeing means sight, and when it's this dark you don't even have the phantom echoes your eyes throw in a windowless room.
It's the kind of dark you'd think would be silent and calm; a welcome respite from all the inanity of life. Instead it's the kind of silence that's deafening, an isolation where your ears ring so loud from the absence of sound that it hurts. At least at first.
I hear something in the distance, a song? But in this blackness distance isn't a thing, there is no up or down. There… isn't. Anything. And yet I can feel rough stone under my feet and the stale air is full of what an eon of dust would smell like if you set it on fire and left it o resettle.
The darkness gets deeper as I press forward blindly. The eyes do strange things when they're deprived of light, the darkness growing more and more until it seems at last to come full circle, black tinged with a red glow that I can see no matter how much I know that it's not there. The unlight surges and the world burns.
I wake up screaming on a deserted street.
Have you ever bitten down on a really shitty piece of pizza and realized there's still wax paper under it? It gives it this hard but squishy feeling that, at least for me, generates instant nausea.
Bad break ups feel like that. A greasy acid burn in your stomach coupled with a visceral tightening in the throat that makes you feel like you're a few minutes away from vomiting, even though you aren't. I would call it the worst feeling, but after days of crying your eyes out it's more like crap icing on a shit cake than a feeling worth writing about, except for one thing.
It. Lingers.
Five weeks out (and Seven weeks out of college. Why? Because, hey, fuck you. That's why) that's the sensation that still sits with me. Silver lining? It's done wonders for my figure. Black Cloud? It's also done wonders for my inability to study for the GRE. It was the kind of test I should have aced with my eyes shut, but even then I thought I needed to learn the tricks to it. What I really learned is that my concentration had been dragged out into the alley behind a shitty pizza joint and shot. Not a kill shot, but the kind of thing movies say you can shrug off but I imagine would just make you writhe in pain forever.
I spent three weeks throwing myself at the wall that was a Kaplan prep-course (don't get me started on that racket) before I finally said fuck it, pushed my post-graduation plans back, and caught flight from Dulles to Heathrow and refused to look back.
My thinking was that distance could make it better. Instead I was just as miserable in a different country. Sure, the associations I'd built up attached to every little thing were gone, but so were those things. Plus I was in a city where I knew no one and coping with my depressing by drinking shitty English cocktails. True story? You look at them and the seem so cheap. Five pounds for a pitcher? Great deal. (Jane's Rule #1: think of things in your home currency when you're somewhere more expensive. Otherwise you cry, and I'd done too much of that already). The thing is, they're not. Because that pitcher has like three shots in it. Not only are English shots about half a shot in the US (25ml versus an Ounce and a half) but those "pitchers" are mostly soda. It's a rip off.
That did not stop me from getting drunk, mind you. It was just a kick while I was already down. Besides, I was an American girl, alone, in London. I was attractive, not that I felt like it now, but free drinks were free. And so, for just under two weeks, I was spectacularly drunk. Forget the sightseeing, for get the concerts or Shakespeare on the heath. My tourism was limited to the most mediocre of London's drinking establishments.
So, for those of you at home, what have we learned? Is it A) don't run from your problems? B) Don't date people who would date you in the middle of prepping for an admissions test? C) Don't date people? Or D) England is a terrible place; never go there. The answer you're supposed to give is 'A'. It's neat and tidy and sounds like the moral of for a kids book. Given what came next, the real answer is probably D.
Because that's the thing: If this was a story about how I had my heart broken and then toured every pub in London, you wouldn't be here. And neither would I. No, as much as I wish it wasn't, this story is a lot more interesting. The drinking just sets the stage.
[ ] Drink.
[ ] I think we've had enough.
[ ] Are you kidding? Drink.
It's the kind of dark you'd think would be silent and calm; a welcome respite from all the inanity of life. Instead it's the kind of silence that's deafening, an isolation where your ears ring so loud from the absence of sound that it hurts. At least at first.
I hear something in the distance, a song? But in this blackness distance isn't a thing, there is no up or down. There… isn't. Anything. And yet I can feel rough stone under my feet and the stale air is full of what an eon of dust would smell like if you set it on fire and left it o resettle.
The darkness gets deeper as I press forward blindly. The eyes do strange things when they're deprived of light, the darkness growing more and more until it seems at last to come full circle, black tinged with a red glow that I can see no matter how much I know that it's not there. The unlight surges and the world burns.
I wake up screaming on a deserted street.
Have you ever bitten down on a really shitty piece of pizza and realized there's still wax paper under it? It gives it this hard but squishy feeling that, at least for me, generates instant nausea.
Bad break ups feel like that. A greasy acid burn in your stomach coupled with a visceral tightening in the throat that makes you feel like you're a few minutes away from vomiting, even though you aren't. I would call it the worst feeling, but after days of crying your eyes out it's more like crap icing on a shit cake than a feeling worth writing about, except for one thing.
It. Lingers.
Five weeks out (and Seven weeks out of college. Why? Because, hey, fuck you. That's why) that's the sensation that still sits with me. Silver lining? It's done wonders for my figure. Black Cloud? It's also done wonders for my inability to study for the GRE. It was the kind of test I should have aced with my eyes shut, but even then I thought I needed to learn the tricks to it. What I really learned is that my concentration had been dragged out into the alley behind a shitty pizza joint and shot. Not a kill shot, but the kind of thing movies say you can shrug off but I imagine would just make you writhe in pain forever.
I spent three weeks throwing myself at the wall that was a Kaplan prep-course (don't get me started on that racket) before I finally said fuck it, pushed my post-graduation plans back, and caught flight from Dulles to Heathrow and refused to look back.
My thinking was that distance could make it better. Instead I was just as miserable in a different country. Sure, the associations I'd built up attached to every little thing were gone, but so were those things. Plus I was in a city where I knew no one and coping with my depressing by drinking shitty English cocktails. True story? You look at them and the seem so cheap. Five pounds for a pitcher? Great deal. (Jane's Rule #1: think of things in your home currency when you're somewhere more expensive. Otherwise you cry, and I'd done too much of that already). The thing is, they're not. Because that pitcher has like three shots in it. Not only are English shots about half a shot in the US (25ml versus an Ounce and a half) but those "pitchers" are mostly soda. It's a rip off.
That did not stop me from getting drunk, mind you. It was just a kick while I was already down. Besides, I was an American girl, alone, in London. I was attractive, not that I felt like it now, but free drinks were free. And so, for just under two weeks, I was spectacularly drunk. Forget the sightseeing, for get the concerts or Shakespeare on the heath. My tourism was limited to the most mediocre of London's drinking establishments.
So, for those of you at home, what have we learned? Is it A) don't run from your problems? B) Don't date people who would date you in the middle of prepping for an admissions test? C) Don't date people? Or D) England is a terrible place; never go there. The answer you're supposed to give is 'A'. It's neat and tidy and sounds like the moral of for a kids book. Given what came next, the real answer is probably D.
Because that's the thing: If this was a story about how I had my heart broken and then toured every pub in London, you wouldn't be here. And neither would I. No, as much as I wish it wasn't, this story is a lot more interesting. The drinking just sets the stage.
[ ] Drink.
[ ] Are you kidding? Drink.
Character Sheet
Name: Jane
Age: 21
Occupation: Heartbroken Graduate (Major -- Astro physics, Minor -- Pre-med)
Location: London(?)
Synchronization: 2%
Name: Jane
Age: 21
Occupation: Heartbroken Graduate (Major -- Astro physics, Minor -- Pre-med)
Location: London(?)
Synchronization: 2%
Last edited:
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
[X] Drink.
Oh I am slain!
Wynaut?
- Location
- Tatooine
[x] Drink?
(Just adding some variety to the votes!)
(Just adding some variety to the votes!)
- Location
- Pittsburgh PA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[x] I think we've had enough.
Don't tell me what not to do
Don't tell me what not to do
Pridakarbiter
Unseelie
- Location
- Arctis Tor
[X] Drink.
2.
Thrum.
The world throbbed with the familiar but nauseating sensation of all of the blood vessels in my head at once and a spike of red-black pain echoed with it. I closed my eyes more tightly and tried to curl deeper into my blanket with no success. Instead it felt like I was grinding my face into a rock.
Thrum.
The world throbbed again.
Hangover, check.
Normally I'm pretty good at sleeping off a hangover, but it turns out it is incredibly difficult to sleep when what feels like tiny stones are digging into your face.
Thrum.
Okay, Jane. Lets see. Went drinking in Whitechapple. What do we know. Well, for one thing, it was quiet. Like I said I can sleep off a hangover, but once you're up with one, if it's loud, you will know it. Two: whatever I'm lying on feels like a rock. Did I pass out on the floor of my place? I'd avoided that so far, so maybe this is what it felt like. Abruptly I missed the shag carpet from the apartment I'd shared with…
Thrum.
My head pounded again and killed that thought. Never thought I'd be glad for a hangover, but anything that kept my mind from going down that road…
Thrum
And the thankfulness was gone. I groaned and moved my arm around to help b-ow. Okay. That was not my carpet. That was definitely not my carpet. It was also wet, so, that was gross. I really hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.
Finally I gave up on my struggle with sleep up as a bad job and forced myself into sitting. The world roiled and I kept my eyes shut tight fighting against the abrupt vertigo and the fact that my stomach felt like it was trying to leap out my throat. Okay Jane. Breathe. You have done this before. Just breathe.
Thrum.
This time when the pulse in my head left I opened my eyes.
Thrum.
…
Well shit.
Remember how I thought my carpet felt like rocks and it was wet? That'd be because it wasn't my carpet. Apparently I'd been face down in the middle of a street, and the sensation of tiny rocks on skin had actually been tiny asphalt rocks on skin.
Thrum.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit. Breathe. You knew this could happen. Single girl, strange city. Okay Janey. Breathe Freak out later. You've had your share of waking up in strange places over the past few weeks. Your shoes are still on, your pants are still on, your shirt is still on. Underwear—check.
Breathe. Sigh. Thank your lucky stars that your stupidity didn't go a lot worse.
Breathe. Just Breathe.
After a few minutes of half-panic half thanks my brain was working again. The adrenalin of what could have happened had burnt off my hangover for the moment, at least enough to get me up. The inventory I'd run of myself had put my mind at ease – my clothing was all where it was supposed to be with no sign anything had been messed with.
Unfortunately, that was just about the only thing. My wallet and phone were gone – I'd expect that to happen eventually if I carried a purse, given how I'd been drinking, but… Well, it wasn't a good thing. And it raised questions about just where exactly I was and how I'd gotten here. Related to that: the ground was all wet.
Not rain-storm wet, but, definitely damp. Moist?
Okay, so maybe my brain wasn't quite working yet. With no phone and no wallet, I was left hoping that where I'd passed out was somewhere close to where I'd been. For that matter, how had I even gotten here? I guess I must have wandered into the alley and passed out, but…
Something about it didn't sit right. For that matter, had I actually passed out? I'd drank last night, that much I remember, but that much? I didn't think so, or at least, I didn't remember it. It was overcast today, which wasn't surprising in England, but it was bright out. It had to be afternoon by now. That was a long time to spend unconscious. And then there was the street. It was still wet, but I wasn't. Had I wandered out here after it rained? Misted? Whatever.
Or had someone dropped me here?
Well, that was a dark thought. You don't drop unconscious women in alleys with good intentions. Maybe I was just going to not worry about that right now.
I forced myself to stand up and brushed the dirt from my face. The world was still spinning but my hang over – if that's what it was – had faded. Adrenalin can only explain so much, and the speed at which it went was another check in the 'something isn't quite right' column.
The alley I was in looked like your average run down industrial or warehouse area; on both sides of it were two and three story brick buildings that looked at least partially disused. Dusty windows with the tell tale occasional broken pain that screams "People rent these but aren't in them often." I didn't see a clear way out, which was another point against the "walked here drunk" idea.
The alley was empty, which was at least some good fortune. London didn't have that big a homeless problem from what I'd seen, but they certainly existed. The last thing I wanted was to have to deal with a bum upset that I'd been sleeping in their space. Then again, given how wet the ground was and the fact that this alley lacked the kinds of overhangs many other streets had, perhaps that was why.
Okay Jane. You're conscious, you're standing, and you're in an alley you don't recognize. There's only one thing to do: find your way out. Glancing around there were a couple of different half rusted doors I could try, as well as a few different larger doors of the kind you might expect on a garage. The alley itself dead-ended behind me at brick and cement building with dark windows. The other end was around a corner that would hopefully take me to a street.
I started to walk that way.
Then I heard gunshots.
Man. Today just keeps getting better. Well, at least at this point I wasn't thinking about my ex?
[ ] Investigate the gun shots. It sounded like they came from one of the buildings.
[ ] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
[ ] Leave, as fast as possible.
The world throbbed with the familiar but nauseating sensation of all of the blood vessels in my head at once and a spike of red-black pain echoed with it. I closed my eyes more tightly and tried to curl deeper into my blanket with no success. Instead it felt like I was grinding my face into a rock.
Thrum.
The world throbbed again.
Hangover, check.
Normally I'm pretty good at sleeping off a hangover, but it turns out it is incredibly difficult to sleep when what feels like tiny stones are digging into your face.
Thrum.
Okay, Jane. Lets see. Went drinking in Whitechapple. What do we know. Well, for one thing, it was quiet. Like I said I can sleep off a hangover, but once you're up with one, if it's loud, you will know it. Two: whatever I'm lying on feels like a rock. Did I pass out on the floor of my place? I'd avoided that so far, so maybe this is what it felt like. Abruptly I missed the shag carpet from the apartment I'd shared with…
Thrum.
My head pounded again and killed that thought. Never thought I'd be glad for a hangover, but anything that kept my mind from going down that road…
Thrum
And the thankfulness was gone. I groaned and moved my arm around to help b-ow. Okay. That was not my carpet. That was definitely not my carpet. It was also wet, so, that was gross. I really hoped it wasn't what I thought it was.
Finally I gave up on my struggle with sleep up as a bad job and forced myself into sitting. The world roiled and I kept my eyes shut tight fighting against the abrupt vertigo and the fact that my stomach felt like it was trying to leap out my throat. Okay Jane. Breathe. You have done this before. Just breathe.
Thrum.
This time when the pulse in my head left I opened my eyes.
Thrum.
…
Well shit.
Remember how I thought my carpet felt like rocks and it was wet? That'd be because it wasn't my carpet. Apparently I'd been face down in the middle of a street, and the sensation of tiny rocks on skin had actually been tiny asphalt rocks on skin.
Thrum.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit. Breathe. You knew this could happen. Single girl, strange city. Okay Janey. Breathe Freak out later. You've had your share of waking up in strange places over the past few weeks. Your shoes are still on, your pants are still on, your shirt is still on. Underwear—check.
Breathe. Sigh. Thank your lucky stars that your stupidity didn't go a lot worse.
Breathe. Just Breathe.
After a few minutes of half-panic half thanks my brain was working again. The adrenalin of what could have happened had burnt off my hangover for the moment, at least enough to get me up. The inventory I'd run of myself had put my mind at ease – my clothing was all where it was supposed to be with no sign anything had been messed with.
Unfortunately, that was just about the only thing. My wallet and phone were gone – I'd expect that to happen eventually if I carried a purse, given how I'd been drinking, but… Well, it wasn't a good thing. And it raised questions about just where exactly I was and how I'd gotten here. Related to that: the ground was all wet.
Not rain-storm wet, but, definitely damp. Moist?
Okay, so maybe my brain wasn't quite working yet. With no phone and no wallet, I was left hoping that where I'd passed out was somewhere close to where I'd been. For that matter, how had I even gotten here? I guess I must have wandered into the alley and passed out, but…
Something about it didn't sit right. For that matter, had I actually passed out? I'd drank last night, that much I remember, but that much? I didn't think so, or at least, I didn't remember it. It was overcast today, which wasn't surprising in England, but it was bright out. It had to be afternoon by now. That was a long time to spend unconscious. And then there was the street. It was still wet, but I wasn't. Had I wandered out here after it rained? Misted? Whatever.
Or had someone dropped me here?
Well, that was a dark thought. You don't drop unconscious women in alleys with good intentions. Maybe I was just going to not worry about that right now.
I forced myself to stand up and brushed the dirt from my face. The world was still spinning but my hang over – if that's what it was – had faded. Adrenalin can only explain so much, and the speed at which it went was another check in the 'something isn't quite right' column.
The alley I was in looked like your average run down industrial or warehouse area; on both sides of it were two and three story brick buildings that looked at least partially disused. Dusty windows with the tell tale occasional broken pain that screams "People rent these but aren't in them often." I didn't see a clear way out, which was another point against the "walked here drunk" idea.
The alley was empty, which was at least some good fortune. London didn't have that big a homeless problem from what I'd seen, but they certainly existed. The last thing I wanted was to have to deal with a bum upset that I'd been sleeping in their space. Then again, given how wet the ground was and the fact that this alley lacked the kinds of overhangs many other streets had, perhaps that was why.
Okay Jane. You're conscious, you're standing, and you're in an alley you don't recognize. There's only one thing to do: find your way out. Glancing around there were a couple of different half rusted doors I could try, as well as a few different larger doors of the kind you might expect on a garage. The alley itself dead-ended behind me at brick and cement building with dark windows. The other end was around a corner that would hopefully take me to a street.
I started to walk that way.
Then I heard gunshots.
Man. Today just keeps getting better. Well, at least at this point I wasn't thinking about my ex?
[ ] Investigate the gun shots. It sounded like they came from one of the buildings.
[ ] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
[ ] Leave, as fast as possible.
- [ ] Follow the alley
- [ ] Try to leave through one of the buildings.
Oh I am slain!
Wynaut?
- Location
- Tatooine
[x] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
A wonderful hiding spot. ^_^
A wonderful hiding spot. ^_^
- Location
- Pittsburgh PA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
New
[X] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
[X] Hide. There might not be overhangs or door indentations, but there are a few dumpsters you can probably fit behind.
3.
I'm not going to say that I precisely dove for cover behind one of the dumpsters in the alley, but, that's mostly because 'diving for cover' sounds graceful, and what I did was more of an insult to belly flops. At least the dumpster wasn't weren't for food-trash.
You might be wondering how I know what gun shots sound like. Well, I had an uncle – emphasis on had. He thought that taking me shooting for my ninth birthday was a wonderful idea. Nine year old me had a blast, my parents were furious, and now we have "that person we don't talk to." My parents aren't that vindictive, so I don't think the shooting was his only mistake, but it's the only one I can recall.
You might also be wondering why I was hearing shooting if I'm in London.
Yeah. Me too.
Still, I was hidden what I hoped was well enough. Intellectually I knew I'd probably be better off running, but the alley had made the gunshots echo weirdly, so I wasn't sure precisely where they were coming from, so hiding seemed like the better plan. Besides, this is London. Even in the run down parts, someone's going to come when they hear shooting, right?
Right?
I flinched closer to the dumpster as a second round of shooting started and the stopped. The dumpster I'd hid behind was a rusted thing, but I was out of sight from the alley itself unless someone was actually searching. And since I don't think anyone knew I was here, that would probably be enough. And if they did know I was here, well, lets face it. I was fucked either way.
You're probably also wondering why I was so calm.
Yeah. Me too.
The question was… how long did I wait?
[ ] Hide it'll it seems like it's over.
[ ] A short time (20 minutes or less)
[ ] Longer (20 minutes – 3 hours)
[ ] Until the police show up.
[ ] Write in.
You might be wondering how I know what gun shots sound like. Well, I had an uncle – emphasis on had. He thought that taking me shooting for my ninth birthday was a wonderful idea. Nine year old me had a blast, my parents were furious, and now we have "that person we don't talk to." My parents aren't that vindictive, so I don't think the shooting was his only mistake, but it's the only one I can recall.
You might also be wondering why I was hearing shooting if I'm in London.
Yeah. Me too.
Still, I was hidden what I hoped was well enough. Intellectually I knew I'd probably be better off running, but the alley had made the gunshots echo weirdly, so I wasn't sure precisely where they were coming from, so hiding seemed like the better plan. Besides, this is London. Even in the run down parts, someone's going to come when they hear shooting, right?
Right?
I flinched closer to the dumpster as a second round of shooting started and the stopped. The dumpster I'd hid behind was a rusted thing, but I was out of sight from the alley itself unless someone was actually searching. And since I don't think anyone knew I was here, that would probably be enough. And if they did know I was here, well, lets face it. I was fucked either way.
You're probably also wondering why I was so calm.
Yeah. Me too.
The question was… how long did I wait?
[ ] Hide it'll it seems like it's over.
[ ] A short time (20 minutes or less)
[ ] Longer (20 minutes – 3 hours)
[ ] Until the police show up.
[ ] Write in.
Knight-Radiant
Recovering Rageaholic
[X] A short time (20 minutes or less)
- Location
- Pittsburgh PA
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A short time (20 minutes or less)
Night_stalker
Slava Ukraini!
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] A short time (20 minutes or less)