A chariot at the river
Three silver coins and an empty bottle.
It was all he had both in hand and life, a void born from avarice which had no reason to exist. He stumbled and he mumbled, questioning the essence of his being as the riverbank drew closer.
The night the dreams had come was the catalyst for an endless cycle of self-destruction. Sights of an unmentioned lost civilization haunted by chilldren who once denounced the old one, an entity that would make itself known in the worst of ways. At first it was just macabre fantasies,but, as time passed the foundations of reality collapsed with illusions of a decayed world.
In the murky waters, the carcass of a chariot made its presence known by having the front part triumphantly above water. Cold water attacked the legs of the fool who called himself a dreamer only to be in truth a man plagued by nightmares. It wasn’t long before he made his way into the chariot at the river.
Climbing inside, it was evident that the chariot had been there for ages, or some might even say that it had been lurking in the shallow stream before the concept of time was known. It was an old wooden chariot with all of its past washed away and the only thing that still felt real in such a strange world.
Three silver coins on the floor and a bottle now filled with his blood to serve as an anchor to his homeworld. After the odd ritual was over, the chariot began sinking deeper until it could no longer do so. This was his destination, the place where all madmen who obsess with the old one go to rest until one day, a decision is made to return even more borken than before.