Neale had to admit, it was taking longer than he thought.
Neale was hunched over, curled into a ball with his eyes scrunched up and one hand covering his nose shut, his mouth a thin, pressed line. He had been sitting here, unmoved, for at least 10 minutes. Yet, nothing had happened and Neale was still stuck in this delusional nightmare. Neale, however, was damned if he was gonna just give up and yield to it.
There had to be a limit to the dream, and how long it could keep him alive. He was gonna find it, break it, and get out. He was determined.
And so, with the stars shining bright among the brilliant tapestry of constellations and nebulae glittering across the sky, a small grey figure squatted among the rocks, shifting in the breeze as the floor under him grinded and shifted. He seemed unnaturally still, poised like a gargoyle mourning his crumbled perch, and was betrayed only by the occasional twitch of a muscle, the flex of a finger and the rustling of his hair. Minutes came and went, and stretched into hours, and Neale sat there alone, with only the sky and the stars to watch.
An uncomfortable grimace had spread across Neale's face, and he couldn't help but feel a little pissed. How long had it been, anyway? Days? No, it was still night. Maybe hours, then. He'd never even got close to getting out. He hadn't felt any different from when he was still breathing, so it seemed he couldn't take that way out. Breathing was optional, it seemed.
Maybe it had to be more violent?
Usually, you'd pinch yourself to wake yourself up, but Neale didn't think this would work. He was pretty deeply stuck in this psychosis, so he doubted the usual methods of resuscitation would be ineffective. He tried it anyway, just to see what happened.
Other than a slight tug at his arm, nothing. Oh, well.
If he couldn't do it slowly, and he couldn't shock himself awake, then it was time for Plan B: Find A Rock And Smash My Head In. Simple and self-explanatory, just the way Neale liked it. However, to do that, he'd have to look around. Funnily enough, despite being in a literal ocean of rocks, he would actually have to search for something to use. Most of the rubble on which Neale was hunched over was simply too big to use, and everything else had turned to dust, with nothing in-between. Feeling slightly hopeful, Neale stood up with a creak and stretched his legs, ready to set out.
Thankfully, it was a short journey. Soon, after some laboured progress half-walking, half-slipping down the treacherous inclines of the wreckage, Neale made his way to the neon sign he had seen earlier, peeking from an angular ruin some distance away. The tubes were broken, some crystalline residue left on the shattered edges, and whatever it had spelt out unrecognisable. However, among the bleak rocky dunes it stood out like a sore thumb, and it was a good place to start with. And nestled under the dusty backboard, were the perfect stones.
Hand-sized, rounded on one edge and sharp on the other, perfect for holding. With some anticipation, Neale lifted the sign's backboard and picked up his weapon before gently lowering the sign back to where it had stood. With a slight *whoosh*, a plume of dust blossomed off the sign and dispersed into the area. Neale shuddered for a moment, before a smile came back to his features, and he hefted the rock once more, feeling its weight.
"Strangely light," Neale remarked, smirking, "But then, this is a dream. It could be made of clouds and candyfloss for all I know. But a rock is a rock, despite whatever this dream of mine might think. If this doesn't work... ah, whatever. Of course it'll work. It has to."
With a final moment to collect himself, Neale cannoned the rock into a fierce backhand swing that crashed viciously into the back of his head. A sudden jolt, an explosion of lights, and Neale felt himself fly face-first into the rock in front of him. He heard the crack of bone, crisp in the muted silence of the barren slopes surrounding him, and the clatter of his body against the stones.
Why did he think this was a good idea?!
WHY?!
Neale thought he had gone crazy. He was certain he had, for that was the only explanation he could come up with. But now, lying on the ground with a cracked skull, it seemed like a foolish idea. Did he ever consider the inconsistencies in his theory? Did he ever stop to ask himself if there was a different explanation to all this, some other way to fix things? No, he hadn't. He'd just tried to end himself, and now here he was, bleeding out on the floor.
If he wasn't crazy when he woke up, then he was definitely crazy now. Though... Neale still didn't feel any pain, even now. Sure, he'd been shoved forward and shook up a bit when he fell, but he was fine otherwise. Except for the massive hole in his head, of course.
Right now, there were two explanations: One, this was all one massive hallucination and Neale was giggling at a wall somewhere right now, or Two, that he'd actually smashed in his head somehow and he was sliding into oblivion, which was why he wasn't feeling much pain. There were a few extra explanations he had in mind, but Neale didn't really consider any of them possible or sane, so he decided to wait and see if he had, in fact, achieved his goal of dying.
After a few minutes, with no oblivion in sight, Neale sighed and got up again. Once again, his joints creaked in time with the wind as he pushed himself off the uneven floor, and soon settled as he rose unsteadily to his feet. Gingerly, with no regard for hygiene, Neale raised his hand to the back of his head, and gave it an experimental prod.
It wobbled.
"ACK!"
Neale reflexively covered his mouth to stop himself from vomiting and jerked backwards, before remembering where his hands had been. "Urgh, gross! Gross Gross Gross!" Flinging his hand outwards in a panic, Neale bent over heaving, shaking in disgust. It felt like a water balloon filled with custard. In fact, he could still feel it movin-
Neale clamped his hands tightly over his head, and tried to stop shaking. It was surprisingly easy, which Neale was glad for. Sometimes you have to appreciate the little things. And not think about the watery, jiggly stuff sloshing about 'upstairs'.
The night was brightening as Neale stood there as the sun began to crest over the horizon. Soon, the stars and the constellations and the galaxies would all be gone, and Neale would need a solution. Already, dangerous thoughts were swirling around his head, and suddenly Neale realised things were much more complicated than he thought they were.
But first, he needed some bandages.