The Apparition Man Chapter Two - Never Lucid- Part five -Edited

The Apparition Man
Tennille Chase
Chapter One – Life
Part Five1

“You have come to the end of the road Christopher,” a voice behind whispered. “Christopher, turn around," it whispered again, and Christopher turned around sharply, listening for another sound. "You have come," it echoed throughout the darkened Forrest, and throughout his mind.2

“Who... who is there," he stuttered nervously, walking forwards into the darkness.3

The voice had consumed his mind.4

“The end Christopher, you have come.”5

Christopher followed the voice, walking down the dirt path, paying special attention to the whispering trees.6

"WHAT END," he cried.7

"The road Christopher,"8

He stopped walking, looking up ahead towards him, the dirt pathway in front of him had ended, and only the darkness across the sky, remained to occupy his thoughts.9

"The end."10

***
Chris awoke, in a pool of sweat, his feet hanging of the edge of his bed. The sheets he lay in now tangled between his legs, in a near attempt to cut off his circulation.11

He sat up, stretching and flexing his tired muscles, advancing towards his sheets. He untangled himself, wondering how many times these dreams had happened before, causing him to wake up, near to death from a heart attack.12

These dreams he was having, this dream he was having, it was too vivid, it was too real, but it was not in any way lucid. He had no control. There was no control of this dream, and yet it felt so real to him, he was sure that if he tried to control it, he could. Instead he was stuck, in a pattern, in this dreaming cycle, of this dead end, dirt road.13

Chris wondered why he had never made it to the end. Surely there was a greater path that he could walk on, and yet to his despair, this one always seemed to stop. The voices always stopped with no explanation whatsoever. Just the last spoken whisper being, "The end".14


Having his legs now untangled, he pulled the sheets of the bed, holding his legs high in the air, stretching to get his blood flowing again. He realized that this small habit of keeping his toes, dangling over the edge of his bed probably didn't help his thoughts inside his dreams, and the dead end, dirt path. 15

Though he could not complain, how could he, he was grateful he even had a bed to sleep in, a safe bed, one not made out of needles, where his dreams would be considered insane, in this place he could call a home.