entranceway | a d r e a m

[ Tonight your dreams are black and cold. You open the window, and look towards the hills. Even through the nightly hours you can see their shapes clearly, no matter how far away. Near them rests a monster made from scorched earth. A scar over which no grass has grown for weeks and months and years. A scar which stirs tonight. Thin branches grow from the ground, and twist into black bones. Slick ooze drips from their form, rivulets of tar with lives of their own. They trickle higher and higher towards the moon which makes them gleam, and intertwine until they are made whole. Until they cover all black bone, and harden into leathery hide. Until they make scorched earth into flesh and blood. Beware the jaws whose shadows loom like jagged rock, and fear the claws that catch the sky in their greed. The shape flickers. The moon dies. Your dream is pitch black and ice cold, and only two yellow eyes gaze with intent towards where you stand. They can see you clearly now. And they are hungry. ]