He sauntered through the sumptuous flora, as the genial sun beat down upon him, verily salubrious. That ball of sempiternal fire had graced him with its effulgence. That sweet air, that permeated throughout his body, did nothing but induce bliss. The flowers exuded those most fantastical aromas, removing him from his earthly vexations into rapture, beyond oblivion. All thought left his being with the effusion of those pleasurable smells filled with exuberance.
But could it truly be real? Are these mere phantasms or does it all belong to this tangible earth? The air grew thick, and possessed such veritable oppression, those sweet smells, now sickly and unctuous. The vivid hues and blue sky grew mountingly garish. Such distasteful colours only proved gaudy, more than that, repulsive.
The sky itself had begun to emit those creaking noises like an old dilapidated door, opening and closing, opening and closing. The butterflies that fluttered beside him began to scream that hoarse hysterical desperate screech as one would do while suffering the most wanton lashings. The trees, it seemed, began to roar; in laughter or in agony - he could not determine; to him it sounded like reckless adolescents let loose on the road. This veritable cacophony commanded him to submit.
He grew dizzy and nauseous, all so unwonted, inevitably he yielded to that callous peremptory. He prostrated in anguish, utterly flummoxed and dazed as the world began to fall apart.
The sun was guttering out and with a gust of wind, it too extinguished. The terrain around him collapsed and crumbled. The floor gave away and he began to fall. His stomach lurched and that despicable sensation overpowered him.
He awoke.
The screams, crepitations and roaring hadn't ceased. He awoke to a black decrepit room. Even the candle abhorred his presence and had chosen to expunge itself. The rats scampered around the room, from one end to another and scuffled raucously.
The man observed the dissonance and brooked the chafing disquietude. It only proved to goad on his irascible propensities. He shuddered. The penetrating cold showed no ruth towards him. The providence divine had forsaken him long ago.
He willed to disavow that inhuman urge, he tried as he tried before. He essayed to resist and as before, he capitulated once more. His hand sought for that bag. That bag that had driven him into such a state of destitute penury. He craved that feeling again to escape the world, and its terrors.
That hag still indefatigably screamed. He wished only to not muse upon the source and reason.
Escapism.
He rues the day he turned to that sinful life. His hand sought in vain. He fell back in despair and hopelessness, for hope had long deserted him. Contemptibly craven insofar as to not be able to face his despicable self. That terrible admixture of concupiscence and intemperance had long festered within him, it had corroded and dissolved away everything leaving nothing but a hollow carapace.
He was an abhorrent wretched animal. He ruminated one last time. His hand searched. It fell upon a rusty metal handle, he raised it and saw it glinting in the flickering street lamp. He laughed. He cackled in disgust at his own plight. He succumbed to senseless spiteful mirth. That object of freedom; he raised. The blood deluged around him