Status: Weekly updates,
You Make Me Sick
July 05, 1852
"Pierce!" His mentor called from the window of his home.
Pierce felt a little cross as he saw the chubby alcoholic wave around a few pages of his newest work and picked up pace to save the precious, flimsy pieces of parchment.
As he reached the door of his room it swung open before he could even get his hand on the knob and there stood the red-faced buffoon he called his mentor.
"This my boy, is what I was pushing you to write!" He blubbered out and then began to read, "Ah, fair sweetness of the light hay!" His mentor paused, "Hay isn't very sweet, son."
He didn't get it, because he never saw his dreams. Hay was Pierce's way of referencing the beautiful golden hair on the dream girl he had been growing an unhealthy obsession with, resulting with him just dropping right in the middle of the street to sleep.
"Pierce, who is this lady friend? Miss Bethany?" His mentor nudged him in the ribs, "Working on that masterpiece are we?"
"No!" Pierce snapped and grumbled about his behavior as he pushed past him to go into his room, that's precisely when he fell face first to dream once again.
_____________________
Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear. His own voice echoed within his head as the world he came to know too well unfolded before him. The sea, the cabin, the tall grass- and then her. Abbigale. This time she stood in the tall grass in strange futuristic looking clothing just as last time, it seemed his dream girl liked to feel of the light blades brushing her skin.
"Hey there." He called to her, she turned with a bright smile.
"Pierce! I was wondering when you'd get here." He chuckled quietly and made his way to her.
There was a moment of easy silence between them, it seemed the two were thinking on deep subject and at the very same moment the two opened their mouths to say the very same thing.
"This is a very good series of dreams." Both their voices spoke in unison. Pierce paused and looked at her, not many dream people acknowledged the fact that they were a part of a dream. And she looked just as cross as he.
"Wait, what do you mean? You're the dream person here." He muttered and lifted his hand to touch the figment of his imagination.
But he never got to, and as her mouth opened to reply he found he'd not hear the answer.
_____________________
His mentor was shaking Pierce's shoulders violently and someone at his side had a bucket of water hovering over his head. Pierce shot up and stopped the bucket before it got to pour its contents all over him and glared at the woman- who was a wide eyed Miss Bethany.
"What the hell?" He snapped.
"You fell face first all of the sudden!" His mentor almost shouted.
"Pierce have you made any contact with witches?" Miss Bethany whispered in his ear.
Pierce's hand came up to shoo the woman's lips away like they were a fly.
"Hush you two, there's no such-"
He stopped only to be thrown into another one of his painful coughing fits, bent over and throwing up blood he only heard one thing on his mentor's behalf.
"Get a priest."
And then Pierce heard the rustle of skirts running to do just that before another fit overtook him.
Pierce felt a little cross as he saw the chubby alcoholic wave around a few pages of his newest work and picked up pace to save the precious, flimsy pieces of parchment.
As he reached the door of his room it swung open before he could even get his hand on the knob and there stood the red-faced buffoon he called his mentor.
"This my boy, is what I was pushing you to write!" He blubbered out and then began to read, "Ah, fair sweetness of the light hay!" His mentor paused, "Hay isn't very sweet, son."
He didn't get it, because he never saw his dreams. Hay was Pierce's way of referencing the beautiful golden hair on the dream girl he had been growing an unhealthy obsession with, resulting with him just dropping right in the middle of the street to sleep.
"Pierce, who is this lady friend? Miss Bethany?" His mentor nudged him in the ribs, "Working on that masterpiece are we?"
"No!" Pierce snapped and grumbled about his behavior as he pushed past him to go into his room, that's precisely when he fell face first to dream once again.
_____________________
Speak of the devil, and the devil shall appear. His own voice echoed within his head as the world he came to know too well unfolded before him. The sea, the cabin, the tall grass- and then her. Abbigale. This time she stood in the tall grass in strange futuristic looking clothing just as last time, it seemed his dream girl liked to feel of the light blades brushing her skin.
"Hey there." He called to her, she turned with a bright smile.
"Pierce! I was wondering when you'd get here." He chuckled quietly and made his way to her.
There was a moment of easy silence between them, it seemed the two were thinking on deep subject and at the very same moment the two opened their mouths to say the very same thing.
"This is a very good series of dreams." Both their voices spoke in unison. Pierce paused and looked at her, not many dream people acknowledged the fact that they were a part of a dream. And she looked just as cross as he.
"Wait, what do you mean? You're the dream person here." He muttered and lifted his hand to touch the figment of his imagination.
But he never got to, and as her mouth opened to reply he found he'd not hear the answer.
_____________________
His mentor was shaking Pierce's shoulders violently and someone at his side had a bucket of water hovering over his head. Pierce shot up and stopped the bucket before it got to pour its contents all over him and glared at the woman- who was a wide eyed Miss Bethany.
"What the hell?" He snapped.
"You fell face first all of the sudden!" His mentor almost shouted.
"Pierce have you made any contact with witches?" Miss Bethany whispered in his ear.
Pierce's hand came up to shoo the woman's lips away like they were a fly.
"Hush you two, there's no such-"
He stopped only to be thrown into another one of his painful coughing fits, bent over and throwing up blood he only heard one thing on his mentor's behalf.
"Get a priest."
And then Pierce heard the rustle of skirts running to do just that before another fit overtook him.