[dreamstate]

[the smell of ancient wood, boys in jackets and ties, long days of study and boredom -][- walking through the forest, ground fog making the early morning world seem ethereal -][- long expanses of brush and sparse trees under a searing sun, someone laughing and everything feels like home should have been -][- so many people, so many places, so much white, oppressive and stifling. Tentacles.

Tentacles.

Flesh, metal, blood, bone, writhing, grasping, burrowing in and pulling apart--

Sunshine on the moors. Stopping near a sheep-herd, waving hello. A pocketful of quid and a book in the back pocket. Dreams of being anywhere but there. Somewhere else. America, perhaps. New York? The shepherd calls, and turning round, the man has too many arms.

run. Run.

First Rio, now this. What the bloody hell?