Strange Vision - First Vision in New York
As Cillian stares intently into the reflective surface on the back of the mask. He detects something dark, something moving, behind him…
…not in the same room. A different room. A dark room, shielded from the sun. In the corner is a man. Working feverishly with a paintbrush on a canvas. But his motions are all wrong. Not that of a delicate artist. Wild… desperate… slashing strokes against the canvas. And despite the lack of control an image is taking shape…
…blinking. Blinking against the light of the sun. The train rocks unsteadily, almost throwing Cilian from his feet. Outside the window a beautiful savanna rolls past. Africa. The heat of the sun on the savanna. It must be Afica. Smoke begins to gather along the roof. People are coughing. People are screaming. The heat grows in intensity. Fire. Fire everywhere. Everything is on fire…
…and there is nowhere to run..
…standing in the foggy night. A cold night. The moon. Full. Able to provide light. Stepping forward. In a cemetery. By a grave. An open grave. Walking around the head stone to reveal. Writing. A name. Donnelly. Cillian’s own name. Here? It grows colder. Above the surname. Mickey. Here? My brother? Here? The icy cold grips tighter. Stumbling, turning. Looking for somewhere to run. Seeing...
The moon. Full. Able to provide light. Tentacles descend. Obscuring. Swallowing. Devouring the light of the moon. Devouring everything…
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