Chromaciticious

And that floating consciousness, like a pearly bubble of undisturbed thought, floated in a black ink which shared its eternal space with an indiscernible shade of blue. It was stark, save for that sphere of dreams.


And it burst. From the orb of minds a plethora of colours reached and spun outwards, forming tentacles and networks of colours; like radiant veins in the blackness of infinity. A supernova of consciousness pierced the space of self. The Reds arranged themselves above and around, the Oranges darted below, the Yellows shot and branched out of the ground, the Greens took flight and broke through the sky, the Blues stood over all as obelisks, the Indigos scattered and scurried across the ground and the Violets covered large portions of the ground, moving back and forth in perpetual motion.


I suppose I should fill you in a little, you just picked this up and all you got was a very intimate moment with a dream that was arbitrarily picked from my Dream Logs. I had this dream a long, long time ago. Listen, sometimes in life, it's the first things that make themselves apparent to you which are the most important. You don't realise it at the time, but it always is. The thing is, that we humans are resistant to the idea of foreshadowing outside of films or books. We just always like to think that we want will come true; regardless of previous signs already rejecting this.


Sometimes though, it's the disregard of a sign, but the following of that raw, gut instinct that helps us see through the day. This particular morning, also.
" 'Ello, Benjamin." I heard from behind me. Funny thing, instincts, they're not wrong that often.
"Hey there, Roberts."


Wesley Roberts was one of the most distasteful, disgusting and dishonest men one would ever meet. Sure, his hair is going gray and his skin is getting wrinklier, but his wallet gets fatter and his lackies get bigger. In number and brutish qualities.


"You owe me an eye." he said, bursting at the seems with authority.


"And you owe me a life."


 Do you ever get that feeling of instant regret after opening your mouth for no real reason whatsoever? No? Well, it's kind of like feeling your balls retract all the way up to your oesophagus and build a cottage up there for the winter. I apolgise to all ladies reading this, I don't know what it'd feel like for a woman, but I assume it's just as bad.


"This is industrial London, Benjamin, and most of my money is made off of bricks and mortar, as you know. Every man in this city interested in owning any property, any man with wide-eyed dreams of opening a business in any shape or form, and many other such men, can be bent over by yours truly."


"You're out of luck then aren'tcha? I'm not interested in any 1 square inch of land in this city." Oh, I'm outdoing myself this morning. Wesley Roberts stood there, staring at me through his dark-lensed Ray Bans with contempt, or so I thought, until he sported the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen a man sport.


"Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't ya? You see, every so often I find someone who has something I want. Now, I'd normally just go about the usual methods to get what I want from such a man, but sometimes I make us of other methods. They're a little rough around the edges, but I think that makes them especially efficient."


Oh... shit.