I find a quiet moment in Elysium to compose my thoughts. It helps, as the dreams begin to intrude. With an effort people are quick to forget that I’m even here. It doesn’t take long for a number among them to forget me entirely, I’m sure. The effort of being a staple of their daily lives is taxing, when being forgotten is so simple, it’s like a reflex. Still, my dreams bear recording.
I sit and wait as we gather our crack team for the destruction of the ichor creature. Some voiced concerns that split willow saplings and cinnamon seemed too simplistic a tool to banish such a powerful creature. My counterpoint was that a sharpened stick of any kind of wood was enough to put down such a thing as a vampire. The plan itself is sound.
But as I wait, I recall my dreams. The sudden blackout in the middle of the field, followed by the vision of the machines, and my subsequent infection. The daydreams that I see now, perhaps visions of my future, and perhaps not. I see victory in my mind’s eye, but perhaps it is only hubris. I see fire, taking form and glaring hatefully, but perhaps this is only fear, or a reflection of forgotten torpor dreams.
My auguries hold no opinions on success. The stars have shifted from their position in the sky, and my deck lies at home in a case, so that I do not repeat the folly which destroyed my last deck. Are these daydreams of swirling blue vortices and men of fire idle fancy, or true prophetic visions? I know not. But past the flames, the dreams subside. Either this is all they wish to show me, or that is as far as my story goes.