Ducarté & Ducarté

If you fall asleep in your dreams. Will you dream another dream in your dreams or will
you dream that you sleep?

And if you dream a another dream in your dreams;
How will you know if you have woken up. How will you know that you aren't traped in your first dream?
Falling asleep and waking up in a world of your imagination with everyone around you being the
very fiction and fabrics of your dreams.
And how will you know you don't live your life in a nightmare while the real you perish in some bed with
the unknown and true world outside.

But what if you realised this.

How would you wake up. Becuse in the the world closest to reality you are "awake" when figureing this out.
And by falling asleep you only get futher away.
And who are you on the other side of your "parallel" world? What does the world look like?

Would anyone belive you if you said it?

Is death the final release from this web of dreams? Would you come back to who you realy are, or would you
die both in your dream and in the reality?

"Heh" He frowned and looked away from the text with a grim face. He knew the words were true by now.
The black litle book he had found long ago with just the first pages touched had told him so many secrets.
First it was almost unreadable;
Latin, france, english, russian... Hundreads of languages mixed together to make a perfect soup of gibberish.
He had worked years to uncover its mystery, and he had only gotten a few pages readable so far. But luckly
it was getting easier. And soon his search out of this dream would start. He knew it.

"I just need a litle more time.." He mumbled with his mouth partially open.
His eyes narrowed on one of the words;             
Eternity, Written in the wierdest of styles, with marks all around it. The meaning of the words around this particullar
word was not even pronounaceable.
"Gah come on, this is just fiction for the love of whatever is holy in this nightmare!" he screamed and threw the whole
desk he was sitting at over to the other side of the room. After tumbeling around it all went quiet again.
His hotellroom wasn't much of a show, and that was how he liked it, furniture could care less, what was the point
of them anyway?
He rose and went to the window. It was brisky outside. Silently he looked out over the nightsky.
He was getting tierd. Again.
Silently he watched his reflection in the window; His beige skin, does deep blue eyes. The dark hair he kept short
and trimmed for some reason.
Might he cared, he could have stayed and lived a happy life in the illusions.

"I don't have time for these illusions" He mumbled to himself and shook his head to shake some of the tierdness
of him. He had to move, he knew it, soon it would turn for the worse, and by then he would want to be in hiding.
He had too.


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