She slept dreamlessly, awake even in unconsciousness.  Her perception of reality grated at her subconscious, ego and id clawing at each other like Chinese dragons on a battlefield, blood-soaked and Spartan. As trees were felled and lumbering giants traveled the widened expanse of nothingness in her dreamy existence, she felt alone and afraid, quietly succumbing to something she could not name, nor tame.  In its wild apathy, she felt herself as a martyr before the fire, the wind before a mountain, the rain before a drought: seamless and heavy, frightened by her own optimism and silenced by the roaring rhythm of the rest of life around her, flying through the universe as on a gossamer fly wing, empty and without purpose.



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