Prologue
Cold. Darkness. The dreamer felt he was terribly, terribly late for something. He felt like he was oversleeping but he still couldn't wake up. No, try as he might, he couldn't wake up and he couldn't shake the feeling there was something important he had to do.
His sleep was fitful and tormented. He was fighting… something. And it was so, so horribly cold. And dark. It felt like the darkness had a life of its own; like it was trying to smother him. The cold was also a physical thing; unlike the coldest winter season he'd ever experienced, this cold felt like it cut to his core, he could even feel the cold in the marrow of his bones.
Shaking? Blinding flashes of light? Planet quakes? Why did that not seem to be right? Why did this intermittent shaking feel so wrong? Where were the flashes of light coming from? What was wrong with the world? He knew something was wrong… he could feel it. He knew the cold and dark and shaking wasn't right. He just didn't know why it felt so wrong. If only he didn't feel so tired and so terribly cold. If only he could wake up…
I realize this first chapter was short—possibly the shortest chapter in the history of writing?—but it will get better. At least, I think it does. :o)
Thank you for reading my first story. I hope you've enjoyed what you've read and I hope you will continue to enjoy the coming chapters. I write in my spare time—What? Spare time? What the heck is that?—so be patient and trust that I'm getting this story out there as fast as I can. Please let me know what you think about it.