Augustius Thunderbird

When does reality become a dream, and when does a dream become a nightmare that can save? My name is Augustius Thunderbird.

In the smokescreen of magic, there in you lies a spell... so temptuous and even wicked, to be drawn inside once again. Such darkly seductive notes did you play upon the naivety of my mind. Hypnotic music exuded from your essence, and I was still in a trance when I broke free at last.

We rode with the speed of the intoxicating evening air, and something more... the earthy yet still so mystically enchanting scent of the recklessness of such freedom that you had always represented to me. How we could be so free in our sandy paradise of time was really the charade. The contained fire of the sunset kept its dangerous power hidden though, and so did the sand that acted like a calmly innocent blanket. Only the ocean did reveal the true meaning, as it hungrily reached for us with its jaws wide open, ready to swallow up even our own sanity...

(Excerpted from a slipstream short story I wrote, "Augustius Thunderbird")