My name is Desmond and I have awoken from a dream, It was a dream about another place, bedraggled, war torn and surviving beyond the apocalypse. I can only remember snippets of what I saw it now being noon but a lingering feeling resides in me that is slowly fading away as the clock rolls on throughout the day. I do not wish to lose these feelings and memories, so this is why I write, in whatever time I can steal for myself between deliveries.
The focus of my memory is a creature made of machine and mechanical parts wrapped and surrounded by films of inflated rubbery plastic. At one moment I briefly glimpsed into a room where I saw the machine disapperating and reconstituting itself and this is where I saw its innards; A few wires wrapped and coiled around metal rings of steel and a sort of chest of metal parts. The machines outer body was warm, rounded, inflated and his presence caused great calm and fierce happiness to those around him.
We lived in a desolate town where we, the townspeople and I had come to seek out a refuge from the storm and begin our lives anew. Our town was located in part of the world that was high up on greener planes, a place I had been to before.
I cannot quite remember why or what but a sort of fascinating curiosity hangs over a part of my dream, where some kind of purpose or feeling eludes my memory..
What I do remember is that this mechanized blimp of ours had come to be the most powerful and protecting of us against the forces of darkly undead wraiths and spectres that routinely ravaged our world.
Our new society revolved around the safe keeping of our townspeople and their livelihoods against these evil forces and other survivors, whom had turned upon their own in search of new and sinister meanings to life after the end of the world.
The dream, or what I can remember of it took place between solemn calm, an attack by forces of evil and then a prophetic vision by our mechanical hero.
The abandoned factory that constituted a periphery of our commons was under siege and infiltration from evil, but our hero vanquished them with pure power and redemption. His will and soft strength leaned on the very substance of evil and the darkness was powerless to resist his purge.
Before the attack I beheld suits of armour and exoskeletons made from reconstituted space suits and a haberdashery of other mechanical parts salvaged from another world that had come before ours. The suits were made for and by the townspeople as homages and replication of the mechanical man’s’ form and power. They were being tended to by the hardy and good spirited men and women of our cohort. They made ready for a repel of other people whom had travelled to our plateau in search of visceral satisfaction from the perils of surviving the storm.
The attack by the vandals caused us to lose focus on the dark caves that lay beneath our town and it was here that the wraiths attacked when we were at our weakest. Our hero sprung forth from the battlefield and eliminated them with all the grace and powerful purpose that we had come to expect of him.
The prophecy I had mentioned before was a sudden pause a realization by our hero as the darkly undead beat their retreat. He was struck by a scene, a vision lost to us and our weary ways, he beheld shadows that danced against golden light, figures of ancient warriors more powerful even than he.
These gilded guardians held up staffs from which hung ribbons of metal that jingled and jangled around when at rest but became rigid and connected when taught and formed an impenetrable barrier to any force. The warriors ran through the ancient confines of the a cave in which our hero now stood as the townspeople rushed forward beating back the wraiths. These images confused our hero, not so much their presence, dancing along the caverns walls but where they had gone, these forlorn warriors and the good for which they fought.
As the townspeople rejoiced and routed the evil, they were buoyed with ever more confidence in their safety and security. But alas our hero was wounded in way he had never been before as he desperately sought an answer to the question of why he had become the sole vanguard against evil, when in times gone by it was those golden knights that held this world up high in peace and in fortitude. How had it come to this, that he alone stood between the caring meek and the savage evil.
This is where the memory of my dream fades, and I must return to work.