I awoke around midnight, (though I thought I did dream), to the vision of nothing but darkness extreme; as my eyes adjusted to survey the scene, I did see a hallway I greatly esteemed. I thought it a reverie, and as such acted brave, but the dark and dense air made my footsteps enslaved! What was this place, this such nightmarish hell? I supposed that to further my journey could tell.
So, though it was hard, my muscles pushed on: to walk only some meters took the bulk of my brawn. Alas, I did journey ’til dusk greeted dawn, my greatest temptation now quite well forgone. My eyebrows were twitching as I drowned in my sweat, but I had to push further, I was not finished yet. The air became thicker for each step I did take, but I marched to a rhythm that my will durst not break. I peered to my side when I felt myself buckle; my shoulder was breaking, and I started to chuckle. Under the weight of the infinite skies, I saw the result when a man truly tries. My kneecaps collapsed as my spine fell to dust; I could no longer walk but my dreams said I must. Thus, though without legs and my spine now in shards, I continued to march on for torturous yards: or perhaps instead inches, I can no longer say: the current of marching had swept me away.
The corridor ended and so did my dream; I had stop bleeding and sew up my seams. The strangest thing happened, though, much to my delight, my wounds began healing, what a wondrous sight! My spine rose to posture, my shoulders rebuilt. My kneecaps returned from despicable silt. My vision rose up from the ground it was stuck to, my quest was complete, I’d arrived in Timbuktu. (A figure of speech, I remind you of course, for my unearthly journey had no end or source). But I then felt my fear for the upcoming force: In the distance were rumblings: a galloping horse.
I turned around quickly only to find that the place I had come from was inches behind. Had my entire life’s struggle been really that small? But I turned away quickly; I had no time at all. I had no time for thinking and no time for shtick, the galloping knight was approaching, and quick. I turned then to face him, and much to my demise, I saw a terrible monster in need of disguise. The rider, horrific, was dressed all in black, with his hand on his hilt, prepared for attack. He stood up much taller than I ever could, and wielded more power than anything should. Upon his black armour were literal skulls, taken from spines of the victims he lulls. On his shoulder he wore them, proudly displayed. The fear in my heart left my body dismayed.
The horrible rider, his cadaverous steed, brought up his sword and prepared me to bleed. I raised up my arms, flinching in fear, and sound of his laughter had deafened my ears. The sound of his cutting was all I could hear; through my forearms and ribs he so easily speared. I fell to my knees, but he dragged me down first. He brought his face closer, “You’ve not yet seen the worst.” My eyes were shut deeply; I started to weep. Is this how I enter my infinite sleep? He said to stop crying and look at his face: that I would then understand how he’d fallen from grace. He took off his helmet for my further inspection, and as I peered at him: I saw my reflection. . .