One tiny snowflake
Flutters against the window
Landing softly on the cedar scrawled pane
Encasing a stained glass mirage
A downcast eye looks for a sign
Riding inside the soft currents
Swaying into the breeze of bygone eras
A story told on the mountaintops of yore
Scent of life outside the penned lore
Waiting on the quaint asperous shore
I stand on the rough hewn rocks
Nod to the indigenous who roamed
Forlorn, I see the washed out lighthouse
Dim it's light honing in on a crescent dome
Old Victorian on the cliffs it shone
Haunted tales reflect it's ramshackle glow
Tepid in my steps I walk hesitantly alone
Towards the hearth calling me in droves
Languished at the eloborate door
Afraid of the creaking floors
Eerie is the mood borne
Along the peeling paint of scabrous scorned
Inside its disturbed belongings lay scattered
Quick look shows disheveled boxes
On top of antique furniture
Broken glass cuts deep into my skinned bruises
Unbeknownst I continue my endeavor
Scavenging through discarded reminiscence
On the hunt for sought after answers
Fearful of what is lurking
Around every nook and corner
Trying to stay clear headed
I stumble through each brittle overture
Seared in pain I continue with labored effort
Strewn fabric falls atop weathered books
Key located amidst the messy fractures
I comb through the wreckage
Left in a forgotten haste
To reach the chest
Holding my quivered heart in lace
Aching in a fevered chill
I cradle to the hope interred in quiet choke
For what I seek is my last fork
A stumble onto the lifeless road
Craving for a place to call home
Tired I crawl along the sloped cracked wood
Planks of repudiated filth
Litter the pathway to my hollow still
Borrowed nostalgic I rest my bleary psyche
Shivering I touch a object inadvertently
Tattered papers of scratched out allegories
Formulations to regain one's craved purity
Bowed down in contorted simplicity
Out-stretched arms seeking clarity
Exhausted I collapse into a eyeful of rigidity
Inflexible to the notion I will die in obscurity
Eternal sleep waits forbearingly
Confined in the whispered silhouette
Posited in a heap of left-over frippery
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Eternal Waking vs Eternal Sleep
The differences in Alex Burgess’ storyline between the original comic and the series version of Sleep of the Just make for an interesting study on the effects of character development. The series focusses more on Alex’s personal arc and how he is treated by his father for a significant part of his life. This is made even more influential by the extended duration of Roderick’s life provided by Dream’s tools. He is constantly dismissed, told he is inferior to his dead brother, his loyalty keeps being tested, and he is constantly in his father’s shadow. In the comic, Alex’s emotional development plays an approximately equal role in his father’s life and in the storyline (a very small one). The most direct nudge towards the emotional disconnect between him and his father is the insistence of the latter to be referred to as Magus, even by his son. The series has taken the subtlety away and made the neglectful/abusive parent-child relationship more central to the story. In doing so, Alex became more humanized in the series. In the comic, he mainly served as a way to let Roderick die a natural death, while still prolonging Dream's imprisonment as Alex takes over as warden.
Because Alex is now a fully fleshed out character, it would have been a waste to let him become exactly like he is in the comic. Comic Alex turns out to be a near-copy of his late father. The only strong signifier that implies the lasting effects of his father’s treatment is that he refuses to be called Magus. He never shows remorse or sympathy for Dream’s captivity, and certainly does not promise to free him without a reward. He even threatens to torture or kill him if he does not get the wealth and immortality he is asking for. Series Alex is much more compassionate, still clearly feeling guilty of his part in Dream’s situation. His only motive for not setting Dream free is the fear that harm will fall upon him and his loved ones. The difference in these two character arcs gives a great example of the two versions of personal development after a traumatic childhood commonly found in media; becoming like your parent even when you are trying to avoid that, versus managing to become your own person but still being strongly affected by your parent’s actions.
The change in Alex’s eventual punishment from eternal waking to eternal sleep seems to be in line with the change in the malevolence of Alex’s behaviour. Gaiman has mentioned on Twitter that the nightmare scenes were filmed, but that they did not test well with the audience; they preferred to focus on Dream’s journey. Still, the punishment seems to fit the crime better than the ‘worse than death’ curse of never being able to escape waking up to more nightmares. Without the change being an active decision of the writers, it still works really well within the narrative. The way Dream is portrayed in the series also warrants a more compassionate punishment. Compared to the comics, he is much less individualistic and more considerate of the other beings around him. In conclusion, this adaptation is a great illustration of how character development can be crucial for plot development, even if it is only in small ways.
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Three Dead Brothers
You can also read this on A03, FF.net, and Wattpad
Nocturn and Clockwork are siblings and have an argument about the third sibling, Pariah Dark.
Clockwork watched the giant pendulum sway through the study. The large silver weight reflected Clockwork’s worn and aged face in its shimmering surface. And then the reflection changed as the wrinkles receded into his rapidly shrinking face, giving way to large young eyes and a swirl of white hair.
“You haven’t gotten that under control yet?” Nocturne said.
“It's nothing to control. Just like time itself, the changes in my appearance can not be controlled,” Clockwork said, his body had begun to shrink down to the size of a toddler.
“I remember a time where you could stay in one form just fine.”
“I was less powerful then.”
“And better looking.”
“If you have only come here to mock me, then I must ask that you leave.”
“Did I hit a nerve dear brother?”
“You are hitting my patience.”
“Then I will make this quick, I am here to request that you free Pariah.”
“What nonsense, I refuse to listen to this garbage.” Clockwork began to get up from the old couch.
“How long should he have to suffer before you forgive him?”
“It is not up to me to forgive him, it is up to the rest of the Ghost Zone.”
“They barely remember his name anymore. Most of the ghosts he hurt have moved on.”
“And the rest will spend the rest of their afterlife in fear if I let him out.”
“How cruel you are towards your own brother! The three of us came out of the void together and one day we will return. Do you want your return to be marred with hatred?”
“The day for our brother to earn his second chance will come soon. But not today. I will not open that box and if you try I will stop you.” Clockwork said.
Eons ago when life was created, the three of them were born from the chaos fully formed in the Ghost Zone. Time, space, and momentum. As the universe expanded so did their power and influence. Clockwork could see the birth, life, and death of the universe before his eyes, and the many ways its death could come prematurely. Nocturne could expand his body past any normal limits and invade spaces deep inside of others. Learning of their innermost desires and fears and manipulating them for his own needs. And the last brother, the Pariah, picked up strength and fire as he moved throughout the lands, fighting battle after battles, and destroying each wall he came across until there was none left for him to crash through. But, once something is set in motion it can not stop on its own, so the last brother turned on the rubble left behind for fulfillment. One gastly reign as ruler of all later, and time was forced to find an unbreakable wall to trap him in.
“How little respect do you have for your last brother, for you threaten me so?” Nocturne scorned.
“You misunderstand, for I have enough respect for you that I know you will heed my warning.” Clockwork said.
With a heavy silence Nocturne left the tower at the edge of time, his vast mind racing through all the possibilities. Until he realized there was a little man in a lonely castle who craved nothing but power and control. Deep in the inner space of the man Nocturne whispered into the dreaming mind, “It should be you on the throne of the dead with the crown of fire and ring of rage. Only then will the world learn what you have always known. The world belongs to Vlad Masters.”
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This mind grows weary
In a world of sadness, how do we stop feeling sad anymore.
In a world of madness, how do we stop feeling mad anymore.
I will continue listening and dreaming of another soul to help feel complete.
Though when all you do in life is wait, perhaps it's time for eternal sleep.
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