The Wasteland

Often when I dream I visit a place, although I’m unsure as to whether the dream is there or here. It is not a pleasant place, the rank smell of rotting fish encumbers the stiff air. Though absent of light, it is hot. So hot. A hellish wasteland, a haunting nightmare.

In the pitch of dark I roam, out of my mind, mad. The scent, the goey surface, is so very maddening. I try to take a step, but the opaque, black substance grips on to my leg, reluctant to let me go. It takes every morsel, every atom of strength in my body to continue through the tar.

I am prisoner to this realm, but I am not the only one. There are creatures, so disfigured, yet still retaining the vague remniciance of something human. I wonder if they are like me, If i will be like them. They have adapted to the harsh climate, feet webbing and lean, rough calves, developing to travel through the goo with ease. 
The absence of sun has made them unfathomably pale, translucent. From their faces, perfectly spherical eyes protrude, and, from their smiles, razor teeth grow. 
They are harmless, so far. But it makes me wonder, what made them develop such sharp teeth? What do they need them for? The perfect tools to rip human flesh, clean off the bone. To devour my flesh. 

I am almost positive that there, that realm, it is not the dream. Sometimes, while I’m sitting in my office, here, home, consciousness? I can feel the burning lack of sun on my limbs or the thick, gelatinous goo, pulling at my leg, nagging me to come back. It never leaves me, perpetually in my mind's eye. And when I close my eyes, I am greeted by the same infinite darkness. 

Yes, here, home, consciousness. This is my fabricated delusion that my malnourished, dehydrated body has made for me, as it rests in the wasteland. 

But here, I have children, a wife, and a dog. Here, I am happy, I think. 

I am sitting in the drawing room, cigar in hand, wife in arm. We watch the children, one boy, in trousers and a vest, about six years of age, one girl, decorated in pink frills and pin-up curls, three-years-old. They are playing with a train set, mock “choo-choo’s” coming from their mouths, giggling profusely. 
The crackling fire, the pure whiteness of snow beyond the window. The antithesis of the darkness that consumes me. 

My golden retriever is slobbering over my ankle, having confused it with a chew-toy.

I look at my wife, blonde hair, red dress and lipstick to match, elegantly sipping on champagne. She smells of vanilla and lavenders, yet the underlying odor of fish clouds my judgment of scent.

We laugh. I see her teeth, a shade sharper than human.

 I can’t seem to recall why we are laughing now.

I don’t know the name of my children.

I don’t know the name of my wife. 

I don’t know how I am here, what events preceded this gathering? Which ones will proceed?

The mundane sounds begin to fade. I am sitting on the chair, in the same position, but everything is silent. Everything is slow, frosted over by a blurry filter.

Fading… 

No.

Don’t go.

I am welcomed once again to the realm. The one that my soul secretly longs for. It is a part of me, as I am a part of it. The eternal wasteland of dark.

I look up from my sitting position, to see a creature, gnawing at my ankle with its razor-blade teeth. I let it continue. 

The pitch darkens, somehow, I am in the shadow of something large. So very large. My eyes follow its frame, neck aching under the strain. It is scaly, slimy. A somewhat human, muscular physique. Its head however, isfar from human. Fishlike, gills protruding from its jaw and vertical eyelids blinking like elevator doors. Its torso alone eclipses the entirety of my vision. It towers over the dark, and the dark shudders in its presence. 

“שינוי” it speaks, i think it speaks. It is more like an echo, i hear from all around, the sound pressing down upon me from above, encompassing me from every angle. It vibrates in my soul. 

All I can do is obey.

So I do. My toes widen, thin flesh growing between them, my legs stretch so long, I feel my knee caps dislocating, I can feel their new found elasticity. I am evolving to fit the climate of this unfathomable biome.

My mind is clouding. All I can think to do is sink my newly sharpening teeth into the neck of the creature on my leg. I am a newborn, in need of teething. 

I obey my senses, I am slave to them now. I am primal, animalistic, not human any longer.