He Who Weaves Nightmares | PUBLISHED (Available in Print and eBook Format)

Chapter 1 - I Loathe Coffee

Chapter 1 - I Loathe Coffee

Weaver

I woke up before dawn to a memory. I missed the coldness of my former home, the gloom of the castle, the shadows that lurked in my chamber and the dark pride I saw in my father's eyes whenever he scrutinized my creations. I even missed my mother's icy gaze.

I missed the tunnels to my nightmares.

I missed my monstrous wings. Every morning, I woke up remembering their weight on my shoulders.

But I knew I woke up to a memory and not a dream. It had been the case the past sixteen years since my brothers and I had been banished to the mortal realm. I woke up before dawn and pulled the memory because at night, every night, I dreamt nothing.

No monsters. No beasts. No shadows.

Nothing.

No matter how hard I tried, I saw nothing but complete darkness. I couldn't find my way to my tunnels.

I'd asked my brothers, but they, too, slept in vain. Morpheus was yet to form a human replica. Phantasos was yet to spin his surreal reality.

At least, this was what they told me.

And now, I had to drag myself out of bed and meet them for breakfast. How I detested these mundane routines.

**

I saw my brothers sitting in the booth at our usual café. We'd been having breakfast at Dawn's Diner since the place opened five years ago. The small coffee shop had since expanded because even though it was located deep inside the village with its first patrons coming solely from nearby streets, Dawn's offered a cozy atmosphere that drew the potential writers and artists.

Anyway, that was what we thought the first year, but we'd since been disappointed seeing the customers' stories limited to the standard bad-boy-gets-school-nerd, hero-avenges-wife's/daughter's/dog's-death or masked-vigilante-saves-the-day theme.

Once in a blue moon though, we'd stumble across a novelist penning a zombie romance or a musician writing about guns for hands and this gave us some incentive to return the following day.

It was these rare flashes of creativity and the pancakes.

Francis--that's the name Phantasos used now--loved the pancakes. My blue-eyed twelve year old brother enjoyed the chocolate chip pancakes smothered in syrup and butter. He also liked bacon and eggs, iced cappuccino, popcorn, milkshakes, sashimi--practically anything edible. Among the three of us, he enjoyed the mortals' fare the most and he was envious Morpheus had a six-year head start.

I was more particular with food. I loved the sweets, but I loathed the bitter taste of coffee. How Francis managed to consume that disgusting drink everyday escaped me. I preferred Nai Cha or chocolate mint tea, but the café served neither.

I also hated how a small cup kept me awake. How could I dream if I couldn't even sleep? It's amazing that despite the amount of sugar and caffeine Francis ingested, he still managed to slumber at least ten hours a day.

I had to remember that despite looking like a runt next to me and Morpheus, Francis was a growing human child.

I glanced at Morpheus who's frowning at Francis.

I wanted to forget he went by Markus now. It's bothersome to call him by that name because he obviously chose it after Mars, the Roman god of fertility. My arrogant brother felt the name suited him better regardless of the realm. I doubted Mars would be pleased to hear that, but knowing how thick-skulled Mars was, he would see the use of his name as a compliment.