When I awoke from the dream the world seemed to have shifted. As if something within me had moved or grown or diminished, I knew not which, only that something was different. It were as if I had carried those fateful imaginings back into the waking world with their full weight, as if they lingered in the air about me. I remembered the man man’s ax hacking through my flesh and the ocean of blood and the bodies, half-alive and rendered by great columns of barbed wire so thick and expansive that they were more mountain-range than scrap heap. Yet never once had my constant passanger appeared; it was the first time in many nights he had abandoned me completely. Why? Had I done something to displease him or had he simply grown bored of my company? The very thought sent shockwaves of anger throughout my inner sanctum. He could have warned me! Could have girded me against that malformed and perilous realm! If I had displeased him, let him tell me how, let him tell me why. If he had grown bored of my company, let him say as much, for I was not so pathetic as to be unable to bare the brunt of such a emotional assault.
All these thoughts and more swirled throughout my fast churning mind as I rose from my bed and stretched in the amber’d light before the window pane of my loft.
It was just a dream.
What did it matter?