He tries to open his eyes, but only one will obey his command. He tries to move his hands, but only one responds. He reaches up to check his face and finds only a gaping hole where his left eye should be. He looks at his left arm and sees only a bloody stump with yellow bone poking out the end.

He always thought bone was white.

He looks around. The sky is a blasted skyline of swirling darkness and shattered glass, as though the sky is merely a covering for a nightmare behind it.

He stands on a dusty plain that stretches forever in every direction. In the distance he can see a fight still raging. And he is not alone – there are bodies everywhere, so many bodies that he would be unable to avoid stepping on them if he were to move from this spot. He examines them. Some of them are of people of all shapes, ages and ethnicity. Others are of canine shape. Both of these types are offset by a multitude of misshapen, chaotic forms. Nightmarish forms.

But now they are all dead.

He realizes he is dreaming. He should probably wake up now.

He awakes. He stands. He looks around.

He recognizes where he is. This is a street on the main road, just a few blocks from his house. It is dark, near pitch black. It is clearly after sundown. A streetlight above him flickers on and off, but its pool of illumination is small.

It is quiet. This is a busy road in the middle of the city. There is always something going on. It is never quiet. But it is now. It is completely silent. No birds, no traffic. All he can hear is the sound of his own breathing and his own heartbeat.

He is also naked and covered in blood.

He doesn't remember what happened. He is curious to know.

There is a smell now, an acrid smell. He looks down and realizes he has stepped in blood. He looks behind him and sees a trail of bloody footprints leading off into the distance. He follows them, shivering in the cold and the blackness.

The footprints lead into a deserted alleyway. The hairs on the back of his neck raise and he feels a sense of foreboding. Something, somewhere inside is telling him not to go forward. It warns him not to do this, but he ignores it and continues on.

He steps on it before he can see it, something wet and squishy. He bends down and picks up the object. He can't see it, but he knows what it is - a severed human arm. He gets down on his hands and knees and feels around the ground for the rest of the body parts.

There are more than he originally thought. There are many bodies here. He counts at least nine separate pairs of arms but there could be more. Finally he finds a head. He picks it up and carries it out of the alleyway, into the light.

He looks into a face filled with horror, the eyes dull but still opened wide with shock, the mouth set in a permanent scream. The neck wound is jagged, not clean as though it were cut by a knife. The wound looks almost like a bite wound.

He discards the head, tossing it away as though it's a stone. Its owner is dead now, and nothing can be done about it. He turns away from the horror behind him and heads for home.

A sudden sound behind him stops him. He turns around.

Two figures emerge from the alleyway and walk towards him. Even before he can see them clearly, he knows that they are dangerous. There is something unnatural and terrifying about them that threaten to consume him. Everything screams at him to run away and escape.

He stands his ground and waits for them to approach. He can see them better now. They are ordinary people dressed in ordinary clothes. One of them holds out their hand in a beckoning welcome.

"Come with us," the stranger says. "Come with us and dance the black spiral forever."

He knows they are the enemy. He knows they wish him harm. He knows that to go with them would mean his death.

He smiles.

"Sounds like fun," he replies with a twinkle in his eye. "Sure, why not."

When they leave, he follows after them.