Oskar's Dream

The library table sat by a window thousands of feet tall. A wide and expansive country side. Along the edge of the view, a vast, beautiful wood, the canopy of trees dancing with the red and orange of their leaves, the fire whipping around them and charring the wood dark black. The sun was setting, the second time today, over the vast four mountain tops in the distance. You looked back at the countless books reaching deep into the darkness of the infinite room. Books upon books upon books. You'd never run out of new things to learn. New things to read. All the books had the same author. The Magister. The Magister. The Magister. Retsigam Eht. All about fire. Flame. The table smoldered beneath you. Your skin burned, agony at first, then a numbness, a gentle warmth that gave breath to your very soul. You looked outside again. It was all burning. You were burning. You saw your reflection in the glass. Red skin. Like fire. Jet black hair, pulled into a tight pony tail. Is this you? No. Yes. The face in the glass smiled. You felt the ignition.

Then, you woke up, in a cold sweat. You had a slight fever.