Name: Greenling
Story: All Great Things
Colors: Dirt Brown #9 (Landslide)
Supplies and Styles: Paint-by-numbers (stood and watched the walls come down)
Word Count: 185
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: A dream, from Dmitry's point of view. Somewhat abstract and metaphorical. Probably somewhat incoherent, since I haven't gotten to the point of the story where it's obvious what kind of apocalypse they're actually dealing with or why he's dreaming of himself as a ball of vaguely-magenta light.

Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.


Floating, suspended; one of a million motes of light moving around a central glow, tiny in comparison, feeling himself as immense as a sun. They spoke in silence, reflecting each other.

In one portion of his sight, a landscape was reflected, layers superimposed on layers, each larger than he could comprehend even within himself. Through an endless linear dimension they were created, changed, became static, broke apart. Something else at the edge of his awareness: another dimension, a back and forth which made outlines fuzzy, which changed things as it passed through. Something is added; cause and effect breaks down, replaced with a different pattern.

Faces. Actions. Places. Fractures. Dimly understood, dimly recalled. Mostly, uncertainty.

The landscape unfolds; one layer in particular. Stretched along the fractures, a web, rubbery lines, which makes a mirror pattern. The pattern increases, the cracks recede; in the other direction, the pattern decreases, the fracture opens, shining, refracting like foil, then red and angry like a wound. The moon hangs inside it.

The central glow extends around him, worry, duty, calm. Past this, not even the impression of memory remains.