Demons, Swords, And Other Things That Nearly Killed Me

Crooner Is Plagued by Horrible Visions (Like Father, Like Daughter)

Crooner woke up in a cold sweat

As he woke, his arms jolted from his resting position –he fell asleep at 'his' desk, arms folded so he could rest his head– and his sudden movement caused pens and pencils to roll off the desk he sat at. They clattered to the floor, the lead of some pencils snapping as the pens lost some of the ink they were usually dipped in. If the ink wasn't already dried, that is.

Crooner rubbed his forehead, glancing around wearily, before pulling his hand back and looking at it. It was slightly moistened with sweat. Rubbing under his eyes, he checked if he had cried at all. His fingers were dry. His digits shook lightly as he clenched and unclenched his hands. He was trying to tell if he was in a dream or not.

I... I must have fallen asleep while planning. How careless of me.

He wiped his hand on his pant leg and quietly scanned the room. It was just as he left it. Nothing was wrong. He was there, he was fine. Everything was fine.

It was just... He had another premonition. A recurring one, if you will. It wasn't a nice one, either. Crooner stood from his seat and rubbed the back of his neck with a downcast expression. When he had premonitions like those... it always unsettled him.

His dreams were where his premonitions usually came– and daydreaming brought a similar result. Those premonitions ranged in importance, though Crooner had grown to understand him. Most would be confused or puzzled by the dreams, trying to discern them from future events to come to just a strange event happening in the dream just because. Crooner had lived with it for almost four decades.

There were moments when he asked himself; "What did that dream mean?" But he only rarely meant it. But now, with his most recent premonitions, he didn't know. His first instinct was to deny it, and the second was to believe it. It wasn't as simple as a single coin flip. This was a matter of life and death.

Life and death.

The memory was fresh in his mind– it flashed every time he blinked. He couldn't keep his eyes open together, even though he had the habit of trying, just like a kid too scared to go back to bed after a nightmare. That's what his dream felt like, all right. Some sick and twisted nightmare that he was tormented with. Crooner loved sleep– but this made him want to stay awake forever.

Crooner blinked again– the image returned

It felt as though Crooner had a brick thrown at the back of his head. He hissed and staggered on his feet, hair flashing a dangerously stormy grey as his brows furrowed in annoyance, anger, and finally, agony.

"Fuck-- Fuck-- Go away!" He doubled over, falling to one knee as he clutched his face, pulling at his skin as they played before him like a slideshow. "Go away, you're-- You're not supposed to be like this! Stop, stop, stop!"

It didn't stop

"For the love of-- Come on, not now! Not here-- Not when I've just seen her!"

His teeth grit together, and his eyes, even though they were open, saw visages of the sights he tried to ignore and push to the back of his mind, never to be thought of again.

Blood covered strings. A broken four-eyed blade. An earthquake. Cuts littering a shadow-like body, racked with shivers and sobs. Water mixed with crimson red, broken ice, tears of joy, emotional agony, twisted faces and broken bodies.

Ice

Fire

Magma

Love