Oriphiel

The television let out a soft song of aimless hissing, casting a dim glow across the living room. Reclining on the couch, the dancing light of the static flickering in his eyes, Frownland lost himself in the black and white swirl of the dead channel. Feeling the call of the realm between realms, he took a deep breath, and slowly shut his eyes.

Thoughts and memories flashed across his eyelids, coming and going with an impermeable method. The feel of grass beneath his feet. The smell of his mother's jacket. The sound of his father's music. A raised fist. A shadowed corner. Words that meant little in the moment, but echoed endlessly in his mind from thenceforth. A division of joy, encircled by pylons and wires, as a gang of four shadows appeared on the wall.

"Howdy, dreamer," said a voice from behind him. Turning, he saw that it was Chiomara, reclining peaceably as a stream of consciousness carried her onward. Frownland tried to respond, but his words became colors as they escaped his throat. As Chiomara faded from sight, she waved goodbye to him, and he waved back.

"Hey, are you awake?" asked a voice, as a hand fell upon Frownland's shoulder and shook him lightly. The Dreamworld faded into a hazy ether, as though it had only been a brilliant impression left by a ray of light, soon to be nothing more than the reddish-black of eyelids.

"If I were awake, my eyes wouldn't be closed," replied Frownland.

The voice laughed, before answering "But if you were really asleep, then you wouldn't be talking to me."

"Okay," replied Frownland, "you win. I'm awake. Now go away."

"Aw, come on," said the voice. "Let's watch a movie."

Slowly opening his eyes, Frownland leered at the speaker, and saw that it was his neighbor. Though Frownland had no intention of obliging him, he nevertheless saw a look of dogged determination in his eyes, as well as a hopefulness that he couldn't help but find endearing. Sighing, Frownland closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. "What movie?"

Smiling, his neighbor lifted up the movie in his hand, saying "Bloodfuck III: The Crimson Tide."

As Frownland opened his eyes, he caught a glimpse of the boxart, and quickly looked away in disgust. "Oh, gross," he said, lifting a hand to brush the movie away. "How about we watch Crapathon O: Origins instead? I just downloaded it."

His neighbor scrunched his face in disdain. "No thanks," he said. "Too much swearing."

Shrugging, Frownland yawned and leaned backward, feeling a wave of sleepiness crash against him. "Fair enough," he said in a tired voice, trying to stay awake.

"Hey, wake up!" said his neighbor, as he poked him in the ribs. However, it was to little avail. For, ignoring the savage blow, Frownland simply shifted into a more comfortable position, pulling his blanket over his Ornette Coleman print footie pajamas.

Suddenly, the window smashed into a cloud of jagged pieces, as a cymbal flew into the living room. His eyes shooting open, Frownland quickly sprang to his feet. Looking at the ruined frame, he could see Jo Jones and Charlie Parker on the other side. "Ooh, sorry about your window," said Jo Jones, as he examined the damage. "Can we get our frisbee back, though?"

Frownland opened his mouth to respond, however a familiar slew of colors had replaced his words. Looking around in surprise, he suddenly fell backward as his couch melted and warped into a hair pie. "The Dreamworld," he thought, as the ceiling became a mouth filled with millions of jagged teeth. "I'm still here. Did I ever leave?" The floor became a vortex of darkness, turning endlessly as it dragged him down into the depths of the old world.


The Batlord laughed lightly to himself as he gazed at the machine. In it's center, amidst a glowing green light, was Frownland, with various wires attached to his head. "Sleep..." whispered Batlord, as he turned and began to walk away. "Sleep."

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