The Executioners Axe

I had a dream once in which I died. I felt pretty lucky to have dreamed that up because it was the only dream in which I have continued to dream past the point of death. Felt like I had just figured out what it was like to die, not to bad after all, not sure why everyone was worrying so much about it. I used this dream later as the foundation for the prologue to The Chemistry of Dreams Which I will post shortly.

I watched death shine brightly in the sun, I gazed at the axe as it rose, the sun blinking off its menacing, metallic edge. The executioner stood poised above me, his rippling muscles taunt, prepared to bring the blade down onto my exposed neck. I looked over the crowds that had come witness my death. I didn’t know why they had come, but come they had in their thousands. I scanned their faces, the hate obvious, spittle flying from angry mouths, fists raised in anger. I could see them shouting, their mouths forming crude words and harsh insults, but I could hear none of it. The only sound that filled my world was the mournful, haunting song of a woman. She was wearing a white dress, with golden hair flowing radiantly over her shoulders. Her skin was pale and her expression one of deep sorrow. Her voice overpowered the hatred of the crowds, filling the chilled morning air and tugging at my heart.

 A tear rolled down her pale cheek and her song stopped. Sound flooded my ears immediately, the jeering throngs voices destroyed the inner harmony I had previously felt. A man wearing a black leather jacket and a garish green hat strutted up to me, gripped my head in his hand and glared at me with contempt.

 “So you see” he said “All things must pass, even you.” He spent another moment peering at me, as if trying to figure out what I was thinking, though I only felt confusion.

 He stood then, nodded to the executioner, clasped his hands behind his back and stood to watch. The executioner didn’t hesitate. He brought the axe down with deadly precision, though it moved slowly, as if through liquid. I caught the woman’s eyes one last time. They were a clear, icy blue and a fire shone inside their; their beauty, their intensity burning itself into my memory.

 She closed her eyes then, a moment before the end, and the axe fell. A flash of pain, the world went white and I was welcomed by the cold waters of Oblivion. A sense of detached filled me, though I could feel a dull ache where my neck had been. It only lasted a few moments and then it faded. Thoughts were becoming harder to form, warmth enveloped me. My last thought was of the woman and her eyes, then… nothing.