Odd dreams

I had an odd dream last night - odd enough to share.

This is only first draft - not complete, patchy and quickly done. I'll update if it repeats, or crops up again.

And oh, sorry Richard.
--

It's autumn in london - the cold winds are blowing, the rain is driving down and its grey. All around in a modern city are dark buildings. Empty of the living - but filled with zombies. Zombies all around, without hope or breath, wanting only to take from the living.

Still, within this waste are a few, very few hold outs. I'm traveling...flying even, to see a brother - to see Richard.

But even as I go I know with leaden heart that this time is the last. Past today, it won't be possible, for he suffers.

Pausing on a rooftop, I look at the place he took to himself. An oval building, surrounded by a low wall. Labyrinthine all around the place, long ago built to amuse as only a maze could - but now a thing of safey. Of hope.

Tall and high - though he lives on the lowest level. Above, infested like the rest of the city. The only access via a small courtyard, with a gate to the outside bolted and barred. Yet even that is still crawling with the corrupted. Yes, the corrupted - thats who they are.

(Corrupted by what, or who...?)

Still, no time for that now. For now time rushes forwards at a snails pace. Twelve clean shots to clean out the garden once again. A smooth glide down to that ever green space, filled with trees and shrubs.

Door opening to my knock, though it takes minutes. (Longer and longer, every time longer). Finally, he stands there in the dusk light, lit from behind by the burning oil lamps we brought here, so long ago.

Even from here, an arms length away, I see it there. Grey, green, spreading slowly over his one good eye. (His other...was it ever a fair trade? He never said.)

As the light fades we talk of things long gone, still standing there in the green. Those long ago games that age stole. Memories of travel and hope. Saving those we could. Remembering those who - no, to painful.

Still around one thing we dance. Family we talk of, those we have left. Those we took, and those we hold. Adopted and spared, twenty three lives won and lost with words of caution between us. Never hope, never dream.

As the last light fails he draws me in, for the night is dangerous, even to me.

As he is dangerous, even to me.