X
"Who are you?" asked Micael with a whimper behind his voice, as he could still feel his chest hurting his very body with a smack, and a grunt coming from his had followed. The man in white stopped his playing, and dropped his brass-colored flute into the shallow swamp, and it had become covered with dirt and opaque waters, just like Micael but with metal, musical body instead of a rational one, but were both stationary and pressed down by the very light of the moon against the soil, and then the man in white squatted near Micael's face, with his dingy and wet boots a mere inch away from Micael's hand, and pointed his very bunny mask into Micael's: "You know, Aleck, the only way to know is open your mind even with your eyes closed," and he placed his dirty dirt-covered hands into Micael's eyes, and Micael never bothered him, for maybe it was really the answer. The man in white put Micael's eyelids down voluntarily until they were open no more, and talked with a whisper:
"What do you see?"
"I see black," Micael replied with quite the fear with his voice, like someone knocking forcibly from a door he knew was locked thoroughly, but decided anyhow.
"That black that you see will lead you to the new horizons of your own and whom imprisoned me. You may now find your peace, but ever be reminded that it was never meant to be broken, his child," and upon hearing what the man in white had said, Micael started to oppose his hands place against his eyelids, with voices of something unsure if it was his fright or curiosity was what had driven him to oppose something in a space he knew he never really belonged into, and shouted incessantly while stuttering and being enveloped by fear: "N-n-no… N-n-n-no… W-wait!" he shouted with repertoire at the very top of his hurting chest, but the man in white was stronger and much more motivated to throw his very sickness into sorrow and his curiosity into something much more disordered than what he could really think of. With his eyes closed, he could feel the cold breeze of the mountainous atmosphere crawling down to his very skin's edge and was as tantamount as a cold running water. The sensation was different and extraordinary into his eyes, and the man in the bunny mask had uttered: "We do not have any time left for blabbering, Aleck. Please let it be known inside your head and let it flow through your veins," and the voice of his went black, so does Micael.
XI
Micael could feel the pain while his eyelids were still closed tight, like the hand of the mysterious man in white had not chosen to let go of them, like a prisoner held tight inside a chamber with cuffs around his body. Mysterious it was, he could feel the cold breeze of the winter-like winds slowly being begone past his senses and the slimy tactile touch of the lumpy soil unto his arm which flexed afar from his very torso. His hand had started to not feel the wetness of the very shallow water, neither, like the swamp was receding back like the tides of the open seas. And he man in white's hands were starting to let go of his eyelids, all of that were happening while his lips had gone zipped by something he could not tell, or even fathom its very causes, which let him with no question to even ask and no sight to even try to decipher what was the happenings round his perimeter, but he could still see the scenery inside his head:
Opaque swamp, a dead lone tree on the western-wise part of the reaches, a mountainous range past the dark dead spiky pine trees right beneath the mountains' feet and a somehow structure past it with an incandescent glow right unto its peak.
The structure looked like a tower made out of gray bricks and cobblestones, and with a shadowy figure up above the very top deck, of which he could not resemble the face but the figure was at least familiar, and he saw the very blade behind his back which was resting into its respective holster, and his back facing Micael's very sight while a voice echoed past him: "It was never meant to be broken" and the hands on his eyelids had become gone right before his very eyes, and soon after his lips had unzipped and he shouted loud like a madman crossing the very streets of an obscure town, finding for something he knew he could not keep and losing something he knew he would never find even with the greatest of curiosity and the most modest of his capability of his very cognition, and the shouting had continued which went past the very top of his lungs:
"N-no…W-wait!" and his eyes had opened right after he shouted, and before his eyes, there were no trees, swamp, a chimney-like building, and the man in white. He was lying unto the lumpy soil chest-first, but now he could lift his torso towards his knees. And instead of the dirty soft soil, he was into his bed, covered with his blanket all throughout his body. Let alone, he was thankful.
He really was, that it was just another dirty dream of which he thought was because of Jack, but it was different. It was white instead of black, and he thought of it once more. Amidst his thinking, he felt a quite sting below right into the right sole of his foot, of which sent him aquiver right after feeling the quite pain, though very unnoticeable and minimal it had been.
"But why?" he thought of himself before lifting and putting his blanket away from his body, for he knew he travelled unto a dream and not somewhere of some sort that unaware could had hurt him the very way his dream did. He then felt the sting once more, and this time it was hurting him a little bit more than the last, and he clenched his toes to try to at least be strong, and soon he grunted. His toes had clenched the way he wanted, but he could feel that there was something that cracked, and he knew it was not his sensible body, but he also knew and realized that there was something obscure, let alone off.
Moving the joint unto his tarsals and it felt like something of which he had stepped onto his dream, it felt dirty and sticky and inedible at least inside his world. It finally something he thought of which was right: dirt, at least a dried one, and he was confused not only because of how his feet had been hurting and feeling but the fact that it was all connected into his very dream of which he knew was something very impossible of happening unless he had sleep walked somewhere, but there was no dirt which had aboard the ship, neither, and he curiously went into lifting his blanket away from his body, and sooner, he did.
...