currently thinking about 6-year-old fundy dreaming of tall blackstone walls by a river, a van, and pastel uniforms, then waking up and telling his mother all about this fantasy world he dreams of.
10-year-old fundy dreaming of a massive arena, red and blue fire, and an axe and shield heavy in his hands. running into a duel with his crossbow drawn. adrenaline, fire on the ground and diamonds on the earth and the exhilarating rush of battle. he tells the story to his parents and his uncle's and his grandfather, brimming with the rousing excitement of action.
fundy in early l'manberg, dreaming of two figures on a stage. himself stepping up to the platform. a ram standing above them as he steps forward a fierce determination, the smell of fabric burning high above. trembling hands clutching a forbidden diary. it's the first time a faint thread of terror creeps into his heart. but he tells no one now, because he can't think of someone who would really listen to him. because his father has more important things to do now.
as time wears on the lush forest of his mindscape recedes. he barely notices it but the trees are fading, the grass browning. slow and steady they drift to the wind and don't come back.
one day when he goes to sleep after a particularly long day with schlatt he dreams of falling tnt and looming black skulls and a crowned figure on the horizon. waking up crying, with no one there by his side. telling no one, because no one would ever listen to him. because it was all a dream, just a dream, right? he's always had deja vu throughout his life but it was all just a coincidence, right?
he couldn't be important when he's important to no one. he couldn't know anything about it. he shouldn't act like he's significant when he's not and will never be.
he thought this would be the end of it all. the worst it would be. but the dreams get worse, day by day, the people he clings on to all turn to dust in his hands.
sometimes he can't remember a time when he really had someone. someone who wouldn't leave.
they all had, hadn't they?
one day, when he wakes up in his dreams, there's nothing left. no trees, no grass. just sand and the echoing wail of his voice.
