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From 1996, I wrote this scene while in first year in University. For some unknowable angst-ridden-still-acting-like-a-teenager reason, I emailed this to a lot of people. I’ve preserved the original ASCII text format.


I dreamt- 

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'Madness is a perfectly normal, state of mind' the man 
explained with his upper crust English. He sat down 
and waved his white gloved hand in the air. 
He had an aura, around him, of superiority. Somebody 
answered him. 'Madness is a just reaction to the 
subconscious thoughts about death....' this one who 
spoke now was tall, black trench coat, leather 
trousers, big boots. He refused to sit down but 
stood in the dark shadows. 
          'I beg to disagree, my friend. It's a 
slight rendering of the metaphysical barrier of the 
subconscious.....' the upper class English man said. 
          There was three men and a young lady here, 
including myself. I never entered into the debate but 
listened. 
          '.....when the conscious soul understands 
the pure evil of itself,' the English man continued. 
          'You think you understand madness and 
evil?' the young lady bent close to him, she wore 
what looked like an 18th Century costume, 'Have you 
ever been submerged totally in your own mind, 
illusions and protections ripped away? There is no 
such thing as pure evil.' 
         'Really Cammy,' 
         'Evil exists only in it's own corrupted 
forms.' 
         'Every little bit counts you know.' He 
sounded like he knew it all and it infuriated Cammy. 
I could see her chest heave underneath what must be 
a corset. The man in the trench coat lit a 
cigarette and blew long streams into the air. 
	The two other men looked normal in their 
business like suits but they had their backs to me, 
looking out the window into the City. Their business 
style seemed to contrast with the dark English style 
of furnishings. I kept wanting to see their faces, 
not the backs or their neatly cut hair. 
Cammy came over and ate down beside me, each movement 
beautiful in it's grace and flow. She was nearer now 
and I could see how pale her skin was, and how 
beautiful her black rimmed eyes contrasted with it's 
paleness. A piece of hair hung delicately over her 
forehead. 
	The door opened and a waiter came in pushing 
a trolley of drinks. The young English man said 'Ah 
service. Good show my man.' No one else moved, the man 
in the trench coat took another long drag from his 
cigarette, the two at the window seemed to listen to a 
faraway train and Cammy was sorting out the ruffles in 
her satin dress. The waiter came around to each, first 
the English man, then Cammy, myself, and around to the 
two at the window who waved him away with a slight 
movement of the hand. He left then, leaving us in 
silence. 
	The English man was looking at me. I was 
finding the silence uncomfortable, I knew he was going 
to ask me something and then he did 'What do you think 
is madness?' Everyone knew he meant me and I knew 
everyone waited intently for an answer but they hid it 
so well. It was time to impress, but should I think 
that way? That is not me. 'Do you dream English man?' 
I said. 
	'English man? I like that title, I may use 
that.' 
	Cammy broke in again 'well do you dream 
'English man' do you dream?' 
	'Yes.' 
	'What do you dream of?' I leaned forward and 
placed my hands together in front of me. 
	'This and that.' 
	'Is there logic to it?' 
	'No.' I knew he waited for my response but I 
didn't need to answer, for the silence itself was the 
answer. He looked expectantly at me, leaned forward, I 
leaned back into my chair. 
	'Yes?' he ventured. 
	'You are wrong, your dreams do have logic. The 
twisted fantastic logic of the dreamer's subconscious. 
Madness is when their is no logic to it.' I had my point 
and it sounded good. I looked at Cammy, her expression 
had not changed. 
	'That's a damn interesting way to look at it.' I 
looked at the man in the trench coat but all he did was 
take another drag of his cigarette. 
	'But how does that sort of madness come about?' 
	I looked at the men at the window, one of them 
must have turned around because he just turned his 
perfect head back to the window. 
	The man in the trench coat threw his cigarette 
onto the glass table in the center, 'When is Darius 
intending to appear? Have things to do...' 
	'Silence! He will come.' One of the men at the 
window raised his hand to enforce his comment. 
	The one called Cammy looked at me and said 'What 
do you do?' 
	'I mess with dreams.' 
	It seemed so natural that she sat there in 18th 
century period dress, it seemed like a dream. 
	'You do. So this 'dream-madness' you describe, 
what is it like' The English man sat forward intent on an 
answer. 
	'Can we talk about something else...?' 
	'Well how do you do it then, I mean 'mess with 
dreams'?' 
	'You are persistent, English man...' 
	'His name is Lucas.' Cammy's voice was perfect 
in it's electrocution, it's sweetness and delicacy 
raised my gloved hands and I proceed to remove the black 
leather gloves from them. My hands were whiter then the 
purest snow, they always are, the veins constantly 
bulging. I slowly closed my hands, letting myself touch 
Lucas' dreams, I felt something but I was forced out. 
Lucas was sitting slightly more tense on his chair. 
	'I understand now,' he nodded slowly. He nodded 
slowly. He had a strong soul. Cammy reached out to touch 
my hands, I let her soft skin touch my hands. She looked 
from my hands to me, 'they are so soft!' 
	'Tell me something, why are you dressed in 
costume, em Cammy?' It was sort of blackmail but she 
smiled, her full red lips so enticing, 'Old habit, 
Mister...?' she was looking for my name. 
	'My name, Cammy, is Matthew Hewlock.' 
	'Well, Matthew, I hope we get on well together.' 
She shook my pure white hands from the touch of my 
dreaming hands, I was surprised she showed no shock from 
the touch of my dreaming hands. I replaced the gloves on 
them. 
	'Well Mr. Hewlock, that was some blast, it was so 
strange' the English man seemed to have recovered. His 
gloved hands relaxed on the armchair. 
	'Lucas, it was not a mental attack, something 
totally different,' for the second time one of the men at 
the windows spoke. 
	The man in the shadows, in his black trench coat 
stepped forward into the light of the lamp. His face was 
so well defined, he wore a fashionable beard, and his red 
hair stood directly up, like a long pillar. I stopped 
myself from sniggering, but in a way it was not ugly. It 
reminded me of those Japanese cartoons I have seen. He 
was also extremely tall over 6ft not including his 
fantastic hair. He moved towards the door, the same man, 
that had spoken at the window, said 'don't move, please. 
Darius will arrive soon. I am in contact with him now,' 
turn around god damn you, 'he assures me it is very 
important you stay.' 
	'Why? I don't know who you are or your friend, I 
don't know 'Mr. Dreamer' over there and 'English Man' 
here, and I've only heard of Cammy in whispers. Why is it 
important I remain here?' 
	The English man stood up, 'look my friend, I 
don't know this Darius, but I do know what is happening. 
Please you can't go.' 
	'What happened to your 'Madness' English man?' 
	'Lucas, please, is my name.' 
	'Why should I stay?' 
	'Because a Demon has broken through the veil.' 

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