I had that dream again.
Just as last time, I was standing in the middle of a field, staring at the night sky.
I remember feeling much heavier than last time; like I was wearing multiple lead overcoats at the same time. The air was a hot, thick soup, reeking of rotten eggs and window cleaning fluid. Every breath sent my lungs aflame.
And the sky…the sky was full of worms.
They were everywhere: bloated, writhing spheres the size of bowling balls, like someone had scooped up a handful of nightcrawlers and squeezed them into balls. They shone with a light that wasn’t light, shimmered with color that wasn’t color.
And as I looked, in the empty spaces between these not-stars, I could see a web. Impossible Filaments of spun of unlight, pulsing with uncolor, stretching across the entire night sky.
And the worst part? The knowledge that I was nothing. A germ clinging to a speck of dust. All I could do was stand there, helpless, while those worm-stars and that impossible web looked down on me.