THE CITY OF LIGHT
The dreams were keeping him up at night, now.
They had started when he first started solitary, way-back-when. They were bad
back then - he'd go days without sleeping, or however long it truly was. In a box with no light, it was hard to tell.
The dream was not pleasant.
Lukas was there, again. Ohio. A moon hanging low on a vibrant night sky, streetlights dim amidst narrow alleys. A quiet night, peaceful in its simplicity. A blinding glare of blue, and it was gone. He'd turn then, in this dream, and see his arm, a wretched glowing thing. The memory was sweet, the last lives he had taken. An addiction no easily curbed, the memories helped; but the dream did not.
The glowing, gnarled hand would do as it always did, rising up to clutch his neck, and squeeze
. At first, he'd convince himself: "It's my arm, I can control it before it gets too bad."
Then tighter. Ever tighter.
Sometimes, it'd be merciful and he'd wake up in a cold sweat, arm aching from shoulder to finger. Other nights, he'd awake after some time, his own hand tight around the throat.
So sometimes it felt safer to not sleep.
The day following, somehow so much rougher than the night before. Someone he wanted to talk to, and little in the ways of finding them; the time was running out, as the sun began to set. Yet the city of lights remained bright as ever. Sleep deprived and irate, Lukas had been running himself ragged for the past several hours. One end of the city to the other, repeating ad nauseam. As a stroke of luck would have it, his search would be cut short as many do. Chance.
A step too fast around the corner, the clattering of miscellaneous materials. Silver strands a curtain swaying in uncertain winds as he'd find his bearings, pulling it back to reveal his face as he attempted to stand. "Sorry, I di-"
barely made it out of his mouth, a hand instead reaching out to help the woman up. "Are you Gracen?"
350 words | | I would walk 500 miles
Coding Altered From: [The Frost]