Fractal Realities: Inward Frontiers

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


Jim reached up, fingers searching for the next handhold in the sheer face of the cliff. Large patches of sweat clung to him, gleaming like armor. By his reckoning, it was the last obstacle of this night's Hypnagogia.

Little by little, he ascended.

By nightfall, he had reached the end of the rim. Light rippled across the dry horizon. The climb back to consciousness from dream was always a taxing one and even once awake, it was hard to feel anchored, to feel like he was really there. False awakenings could keep him trapped for days and he wouldn't even know it until he finally woke up. Dreamscapes were layered things, illusions designed to copy reality, recreating it here. They weren't designed to trick the mind, or at least not only that, but to allow people to live through permutations of memory and possibility. Dreamtripping during the day took a toll on his body but being awake at night helped tether his sanity.

Some dreams shimmered. Not all of them though.

Reaching out, he grabbed for the sun.


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