The Dreamers [ONC2020] | ✓

One | Sean

I am alone in a field of white flowers.

They cover the rolling hills of black sand that stretch to the horizon, a sea of white meeting the sharpened edge of night. The sky is devoid of any moon, but every detail of the landscape is vivid and sharp. Stars glitter above like silver threaded into black velvet.

The flowers glisten with an icy iridescence as a faint breeze pushes back the white petals to reveal stems and leaves as black as the night. I pluck one and the flower in my hand quivers and transforms, sky blue petals unfurling to reveal a sunny center as its leaves turn a brilliant shade of green. It is the only bit of color in this black-and-white world.

The cold air and unsettling quiet wrap themselves around me like a suffocating blanket. This place might be beautiful, but I can't get rid of the desolate, empty ache in my chest. I am nervous at the thought of being miles away from anyone and anywhere with nothing but stars and flowers and sand and silence to keep me company.

From behind me comes the faint, blowing breath of a horse, but this sound is different. It's a deeper, hollower noise, a harsh, rasping exhale that makes my skin crawl. I turn around to face it, trying to keep my breathing even.

Over the crest of the hill comes a monstrous, skeletal creature like a horse and yet nothing like a horse. Twisting black antelope horns stretch out over its back, stemming from a bleached skull that masks its face. Its skin is made of shadows clinging to the contours of rib and bone, and its mane is the color of smoke, trailing like seaweed over its long, sinuous neck. Tar bubbles at its feet, popping and splattering against the surrounding flowers, staining them black. It stares at me with the chalky white eyes of a dead fish.

"You shouldn't be here," it says, its voice reverberating in the air. The grating sound travels through the hills and shakes my knees. A scent like spoiled milk and rotting fish fills the air, sour and thick enough that I gag. I stuff my nose into the crook of my elbow, trying not to breathe in the stench.

"Where am I?" I ask. The creature makes a low sound in its throat, a mixture of a snarl and a hiss.

"Go," it growls. A hoof paws at the ground in annoyed impatience, or perhaps in warning. "Leave this place."

"What are you —"

"LEAVE!" It roars, slamming a hoof to the ground. The landscape quakes and splits in a deafening rumble of stone and thunder. Black vines erupt from the ground, winding around my ankles and up my legs. I'm torn off balance as they pull me towards a gaping chasm, black sand streaming over cliff edges like a waterfall. My hands rake across the ground for anything to hold onto but only succeed at getting a fistful of white petals. I scream for help but there is no one except the monstrous creature who watches my struggle with indifferent eyes.

I'm dragged over the edge and into the abyss. Vines continue to wrap around my torso and limbs until I'm pinned in place, unable to move. Sand pours into the hole, filling my mouth and nose and ears and smothering my cries. I am buried and I am dying . . .