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Scarlet Nightmare
written 1995

He should have known the moment he saw it that there was no turning back. The hair on his neck began to cringe as the mist enveloped him, and he had the sudden feeling that he had been here before. The environment shifted, and as he stood there dumbfounded, he entered a nightmare. Small brush sprawled amid pebbles and stones in the orange sand. Scrawny trees huddled here and there below a scorching blue-white sun. Suddenly the sand burst into the air several yards from his feet, sending clouds of dust in every direction. He coughed and spat as the dust filled his lungs, wiping the illusion from his eyes to reveal an enormous centipede-like form emerging from the desert that was nearer and nearer with every passing second. He gazed in horror as the monstrous beast roared and bared it's villianous fangs stained with an oozing green solution. A fetid gust left the creature's jaws and filled his nostrils with the scent of certain death. The spiked ends of it's limbs were splitting through the gnarled undergrowth and biting into the dry earth. Depthless eyes stared in enragement and he felt as if he would most certainly in a very short length of time be devoured in some gruesome manner by the evil before him. It seemed like an eternity he stood there, watching the predator rather obliviously stalk its prey, like an eagle sure to snatch the mouse three hundred feet below him. As his hope of safety dispatched and he prepared to die, at the last possible moment before he closed his eyes, a negative void dissolved from the air about him and that strange mist crept from the vacuum toward him and his enemy, engulfing them both. He felt an incredible relaxation flow through his body, and the scent of wildflowers became an apparent agent and began a series of visual changes that sent the blue haze to green grass and a few scattered puffy clouds.

The chirping of the birds came to a stop and the crickets' singing halted. He now stood in a wonderland of beautiful flowers and soft, fertile soil holding up an amazing blue sky that shyed to white around the pale sun. A sixth sense told him that he was not alone, but he ignored it and began to walk forward, passing step by step through the tall grass. The wind blew across the field and the plants waved in recognition. His steady strides swished through the blades like water. It seemed like a beautiful day, care free and easy going, and his mind wandered into it's past. He became oblivious to the echo of the swishing behind him and thought about his old life on the farm, hauling hay and milking cows all day long. His remembrance brought back that day when his mother had placed her hand on his shoulder, and said, "Son, you'd better come quick. Pa's been shot." He presently turned around and looked, as if to see his mother there, and he nearly dropped dead. What he saw before him was not his old Mama, but an image of his dead father. The gaping hole in his chest was clear all the way through to the grass behind him. The face was vaguely pale and there was blood running agonizingly down the ghost's chin, dripping onto the grass as he stood. A torn shirt hung limply from the figure's shoulders and dark red stains showed in his trousers. He closed his eyes and squinted, and as if in a struggle to say, "Come with me, Son, it will all be okay." The dead man opened his eyes again and his son was not there, but some distance ahead, running frantically, kicking down the flowers as he fled. The ghost followed. He ran for what must've been an eternity through the fields, cowering from the monster that sought him. He had no idea where he was or into what he was headed. No idea, that is, until the horizon darkened with a deep green. He slowed, and looked behind, just to see his father running behind him, his shirt swaying with the wind around his holed frame. He persisted to run, quickening his pace toward the forbidding land that lay ahead. The green gradually changed to black and yellow brown, supported by huge wooden columns. Still he ran, with his attacker behind him, toward the majestic forest. Perspiration flowed freely down his brow, even though he could feel the temperature dropping somewhat quickly. His sides began to ache and he lost feeling in his legs as his strides lengthened. The wall of trees was nearer now and he sprinted between two of the smaller giants, barely missing the roots and trampling into the moss. He spared a moment to look, and saw his competitor gaining rapidly. The huge spires passed by one by one as they reached for the sky, blocked by a cloud of leaves and branches. He began to hear heavy breathing that was not his own, and crumpling of the grass underneath his enemy's feet. Even without looking he knew that he was doomed, but he continued anyhow, fleeing what was an apparent death. His body was cold and felt very sticky, and his toes went numb, followed by his fingers and his nose. He suddenly wondered where the centipede had gone when the mist had enveloped it. He discarded the thought and returned to his getaway. The thought was not only his, though, because as he ran, the smashing of grass from behind became a crushing of trees from the path ahead. He cringed as he examined his situation. Then, he took a sudden and minorly intelligent course of action and broke left, barely dodging a low limb from one of the surrounding forms. He thought, "How could things be any worse?" His question was immediately answered, and as the two of his former pursuers joined and raced toward him, a new aspect came into play. He noticed that the trees were thickening as to where he could not traverse, but his hunters could easily march into. He came to a halt because there was nowhere he could go but back. Ironic, he thought, that he could've been safe had he not taken that turn into the densest part of the forest. He knelt down and prayed, because he knew nothing could save him now. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared for an angel.

But the angel never came. He lowered his eye brows and listened intently for the sounds of the forest. They did not come either. He opened his eyes and was baffled by the new, yet even stranger surroundings that encased him now. The sky was visible, but he did not want to see it. The aqua-blue grass met at the horizon with blood red. A silver lightning bolt raced across the scarlet atmosphere from one end to the other and dragged a roaring thunder behind it, piercing through the silence. Towering violet clouds billowed in the thin air. He began to have trouble breathing and found his chest not moving. He glanced either way in panic, but it was the same any way he looked. Another silver flashed in the sky. He knelt to the ground and began to crawl forward, having rapidly lost his strength. He contemplated his situation. There was no escape this time. Not even the mist could bring him from his present fate. He laid down on the ground and rested his head on the soft blue grass. A brilliant sliver blew between the clouds, followed by a clap of thunder. This time, though, he did not witness it.