Nightmares
by Charles Pyke
I stand in the middle of a grassy field on a bright summer day, and things appear very sur-real. I recognize certain landmarks of a park I used to visit often in the past, only distorted. Houses are strangely colored and glow, the four entrances penetrating through the center of every flank are broader, and on the sandy spots in two of the corners, where a playground and a baseball diamond once stood; crooked gravestones protruded from steaming earth. I look up and see black thunderclouds in the distant horizon, and suddenly a baleful blast of stentorian bass, vociferated across my present location, and induced the earth below me to tremor. I quickly look back down and my instinct impels me to turn around, and I immediately behold a blasted parade advancing through one of the entrances towards me. A parade of colorfully uniformed marchers obscenely employing their rudimentary brass instruments, and encircling ornate moving platforms of shimmering cyrstal statues and objects.
I feel threatened by this majestic presence, but not by the sight of it; the vibrations violently surge through my body, and the actual sound vehemently pierces my eardrums. I somewhat shield this cover my ears with my hands, and...
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