A Demonic Dance

Chapter Two: Shoo

When he opened his eyes again he was no longer by the sofa, no longer in the apartment or anywhere in England.

Around him grass rustled in the burst wind, flowers swaying in a graceful dance as leaves around them waltzed to the ground. The sun beat down eagerly, causing Dream to raise his hand to the sky to block out the onslaught of light that pierced his vision.

Blinking rapidly the demon stood up, glancing around. The landscape was hilly, covered in tuffts of green grass, littered with trees and an occasional sheep or two, an odd leaf waltzing down from the branches of out stretching trees.

But dream wasn't hear to admire the scenery and was soon pulled away to behind him.

Standing on top of the hill Dream resided at the bottom of was George and a faceless figure, a figure whom in Georges eyes the Demon knew could represent a family member, a loved one, a friend. But dream saw it as what it really was, a figure of despair and destruction, a bundle of darkness waiting to lash out.

And as soon as the sunny weather had appeared it disappeared, clouds rolling over the sky as they showered fat blobs of rain which enveloped Dreams clothing, working its way into his skin as he stared climbing the hill, freezing himself to the bone as what once may have been a happy memory took a more sinister turn.

"GEORGE." Dream screamed out, only for his voice to be whisped away by the wind.

"Fuck." The demon cursed, trecking up the hill as fast as he could, all the elements around him seeming hell bent on not letting him get there, as if knowing his intentions were against its own.

He could probably part a road for himself in the storm, but he wanted to interfere with the dream as little as possible, he knew what disasters he could cause if something went wrong.

"GEORGE!" He screamed again. "GEORGE DONT LISTEN TO IT!"

Technically he didn't know what that thing was saying to George, but with what it was, nothing that thing would say to George would be anything good.

The certain nightmare George was having was one of the worst classes. The lower down ones for example can be just a random scenario that'll leave you hurt and confused. But this type, they dig into your deepest fears and dreads. They take a memory and twist it into a monstrosity. A monstrosity they will torture you with it till you didn't know what was reality and what was fake, if the words they said to you, the hate they displayed was real or a figment of your own creation. Making your perfect little hell. It was the certain kind of Nightmare Dream specialised in making.

Time doesn't have a construct in dreams, but Dream knew he must have been climbing for a while as the world around him slowly deteriorated, grass turned brown and shrivelled, flowers wilted and trees rotted.

Dream sucked in a breath as he reached the summit, Georges back facing away from him. Despite the rain and the thunderous wind which tried to blow Dream over, George stood firm, only his clothes battering in the wind.

At the sight of him the figure of emotion reached out, exited by the prospect of the demon being there to amplitude their power even more than his presence already was.

At this moment in time, with George in front of him and that thing there too, Dream had absolutely ran out of ideas of what he was going to do, any plan he had originally had had ended at this spot, figuring he would have worked it out on his way there. Long story short he hadn't worked it out.

So, instead, having absolutely no clue what he was doing, he walked up behind George, wrapping his arms around George and resting his chin on the smaller's head, as he glared at the being and said the first things that came to his mind.

"Shoo."

—-
Hah, sorry this chapter is so short, it'll probably be one of the shortest in the book, all the others are pretty lengthy

Please vote and comment, tell me what you think so far, that would be Hugh you appreciated

70 reads already!!!!! This is bloowing my miiiiiind

-Spidey