The First Nightmare of the City of Reflection

The old times were innocent, happy, and wise

A long time ago there was a beautiful city which lay deep in the folds of the River Mekong, among peaceful rice growing fields and occasional palm trees.
I say a city, in that they called it a city, although really it was nothing more than a small town. In spite of this, its people wholeheartedly called it a city. For them, it was the only city in the world, the only place graced with such a respectful title. None had bettered its walls, had outgrown its population, a mighty ten thousand souls, or had marveled more at the world than this city. Its temples were the most beautiful ever seen. Its knowledge the most true.
This city burned fires, and one fire burned brightest of all. In the top chamber of its highest tower, a fire burned brightly throughout every day the city worshipped, and it worshipped every day. Indeed, it was built for worship. It was built to give colour to deep held belief, deep held ideas seen often in dreams, felt constantly in work. The world inside and the world far from the clouds, it was this world the city was built to give reality to, to make its golden truth accessible to human eye. And every day the city rejoiced that it was there. Everyday, through daylight hours, the huge fire burned in the highest tower of the city. All who created food in the fields could felt its warmth, and all sweaty trees reflected its wondrous light over the cornucopia of creatures.
This, the only city in the world, was a reflection. Its name literally meant "Reflection, and its' name was famous wherever people dwelt. When people sang their songs of joyful wonder, at dawn and at dusk, they directed them toward it. The City of Reflection was the closest thing to the wonderful truth that existed on earth. It was a reflection of that truth, just like the people of the time were reflections of being. So the reflections of being sang their songs to the reflection of the universe, and all was in perfect harmony.
The City of Reflection had always been an old city. None could remember when it was founded. Some could remember days when this or that grand structure was different. When one temple, long since tinkered with, or bettered, stood proudest. When one wall, since adjusted, stood facing one way. When one ritual, long since altered, was practiced. But none could remember, nor cared, when the city was founded. Such questions were not interesting. It was like asking when the universe began. The only possible answer was there was no beginning, just as there was no end. And so with its reflection, it was as old as the universe itself.
The night was the best time to be in the city. The days were spent waiting for the night. The fire that burned every day was merely a reminder that the night would soon arrive. It gave hope during the scorching days, a mini star burning high in the mid day sky, placed in a tower by human hands.
The night began as the sun fell beneath the land, the skies complexion darkened. The people believed the day was necessary, but not real. It was a kind of dream time. So people worked, as in a dream, and did their necessary work, unbothered by worldly conditions, content, as in a dream, their thoughts involuntarily bent toward the night that lay behind and ahead. The blue skies, the orange, greens, and browns of the day time landscape, these were all make-up, not real, not everlasting. When the sun fell and dusk began, it was as if the face of the earth were being washed of its unnatural cosmetics. When darkness finally descended, the true face was revealed.
The people of this city found the true face to be the most beautiful thing they had ever seen. It was the real, true universe, and they adored it. They could be themselves at night, just as they believed the universe revealed its true appearance, shaking off the colourful sorcery of the day. They could gaze up at the beautiful jewelers' shop of stars that hung magnificently in the sky, and see all that there was, and ever would be. They could accept this simple fact with grace, and wonder with awe at how the simple truth could be so beautiful. So many bright and glistening lights gleamed endlessly in every corner of the sky, and it was a blessing and a privilege to see each and every one for its individual spark of truth.
It was therefore natural for people to regard spending too much time indoors at night as sinful. A virtuous person should be up and about outdoors, in the market area, on the steps of a temple, on the roofs of a house, or, if they dwelt out amongst the fields and palm trees, in a yard. Sleep was obviously necessary and desirable, but it was slovenly and impious to go to sleep without gazing at the stars with ones fellow gazers first. Between twelve and one in the morning was considered the appropriate time to sleep for people in trade and work. Children, and their mothers, were supposed to retire at about eleven, while the old or out of work often opted for a completely nocturnal existence, choosing to sleep out the day light.
Under these circumstances the best time to be in the City of Reflection was undoubtedly the evening. Indeed, this is something of an understatement. The City of Reflection had probably the best night-life of any city that has ever been. Imagine, of a population of ten thousand, small though that might sound, ninety percent of the adult population milling around at night time. All were engaged in the kind of assured religious revelry that you hardly witness these days. They existed beneath the stars, the stars gave them confidence, the stars gave warmth to their hearts, the stars relaxed them and the stars energized them. They reflected this power back to the heavens and across the city in communal songs, hearty conversation, debate, music, dance, poetry and love making. Every afternoon a tingle of expectation was felt as the people realized that the stars would soon be among them. Some approached this with a child like disbelief, later venting cheers of joy as the first star was revealed, and their faith justified. Toasts were made when the final star gleamed in a sky of millions. Social bonds were forged and re-forged nightly, very few found it possible to feel sad or lonely in this atmosphere.
It was with a sense of pride that the city of was named Reflection, and in truth the city existed as a wizardly manifestation. It was often remarked by many people how brilliantly and literally the city earned its title, for on most nights the people would all join hands, magically feeling themselves to be creating a human reflection of the sacred heavens above. This feeling was not merely whimsical either. The city had been designed, since its origin, to be a literal reflection of a number of stellar constellations. Each temple, each road, and even each house were mathematically placed and sized so as to be commensurate to the highest degree with the real stellar masses.
The first temple complex built was the constellation of Orion, prominent as it was in the night's sky of the northern hemisphere. After that every new building had to be approved and standardized with the most accurate stellar maps. As the city grew it was as if a giant star map was being drawn on the face of the land. The River Mekong, along which the City resided, was decided from the very first to represent the huge band of blurry far off stars which we today call the Milky Way. The first temple had to be built in precise relation to this, and as the city grew, each temple was ordered in terms of the most important constellations, and named accordingly. Each house, which over the generations grew to represent families, took its name from the star which it reflected. Family names were taken from the house where they started so that, as the years passed and houses were passed down, the most prominent citizens were known by their star names.

Things don't change: Educated people discuss things they don't know about

One such group of prominent citizens sat, a clear summer's night, upon a roof. The roof belonged to the house of Sirius, the host of the gathering. Among the gathered were also Jupitus, Betelgeuse, Badmonius and Hartle, who were all prominent teachers of the Academy, the major tertiary education institution of the city. Sirius, the host, was their director, but they were all prominent enough to joke and talk as friends and confidants in the star strewn evening. Also rice wine thinned the air, so that almost anything could be said. Words flittered around as rocks fly un-noticed in their thousands through space.
The topic of conversation concerned a familiar debate of the times. That is, whether the grandeur of the stars could be bettered, or was, as was commonly the outcome of such friendly debates, simply the pinnacle and perfection of spiritual existence.
Badmonius was reminding the gathered of the probably mythical cow people of the western mountains. Was it not the case that they had worshipped cows, the primary source of their economy, as Gods, and had been supremely content? Was it not further the case that their worship was possibly more justified than the gathereds worship of the stars, in that cows had actually provided the probably mythical cow people with food, security, warmth, transportation, housing, companionship and fun?
Hartle found this idea to be on the whole true, but also flawed. Others burbled agreement, especially when Hartle reminded the gathered of the fate of the probably mythical cow people, who were believed to have suffered horribly when an unknown plague wiped out most of their cow population and left them stranded to suffer and die in the mountains. He then challenged Badmonis to find an exiled descendant of the cow people in the city of reflection, and ask such a person whether they regarded the worship of cows, or indeed any incidentally economically important animal, to be superior to the worship of the eternal stars. Badmonis conceded the point with a chuckle to his companion, admonishing only that if the cows had not died they might all be sitting under cowhides right now this moment, singing songs of "MOOO! to fair Daisy, the Bringer of Milk. Would they not then be the most spiritually content people the world had ever seen? All laughed so heartily at the image brought to mind it was hard, for a moment, to believe that they did not truly disagree with the final gauntlet brought down by Badmonis.
A further point was made by Jupitus after the commotion of cows was finally calmed down, this being a cross-examination of Hartle in his choice of words. Had Hartle described the cows of the cow people as "incidentally economically important', and if so, did he not see the analogy with the stars themselves. Hartle replied that he had said those words but that he utterly failed to see any analogy between cows and the stars and could Jupitus, who was admittedly a little tipsy, please enlighten the crowd into his revolutionary way of thinking. Jupitus replied that he was much obliged to enlighten, but added a small rejoinder to the effect that he was about to make a self-confessedly obscure point. He secretly hoped his obscure and skewered idea would be seen as a joke and not as the vaguely serious conception it had originally been, in case the gathered instead took the view that he was a complete idiot and fraud.
The point he had undertook to make was that the stars were also "incidentally economically important if one took the view that the sun was a star, and the further view that without the sun the economy of the city could not function. This last pillar was conceded to be on shaky ground, since no proof had been found for the proposition that the growth of food required sunlight. There was no time ever known of when the sun did not cease to shine for more than twelve hours (the twelve glorious hours of starlight), and so no food had ever had the chance to grow solely in starlight. But, Jupitus tried to sound diplomatic and level headed, if one assumed that the sun was a star, which was also hotly contested, and if one further assumed that the sun was required for the growth of food, and hence a vital component of the economy, was that not on a par with the relationship between the cow people and their cows? Did not the cow people rely on their cows as the people of Reflection rely on the sun, and did not the cow people worship the source of their fortunes, as do the gathered worship theirs, the stars, themselves suns, and supremely "incidentally economically important?
A number of learned revelers spoke up in response to this idea, which was on the whole scoffed at. The first was Beatleguise, who took issue with the idea that the sun was a star, and argued that if it were, would they not be a city of day loving sun worshippers, rather than night loving stargazers? Most gathered nodded understanding and broad agreement with this. On another point, Badmonis, seeking to recover his ground, agreed and disagreed. He agreed that in a sense they were all economically reliant on the sun, forgetting for a moment the issue of the suns status as star or not star, and relenting to the supposition that the growth of food required the presence of sunlight, BUT, he added, would that not make the cow people also reliant on the sun, if not directly, then through the vehicle of their cows, who needs must, like any other animal, eat of the grass?
All the while Hartle nodded stronger and stronger agreement, until the moment Badmonis had finished speaking he burst open in praise of Badmonis, whom he apologized for ridiculing earlier. He then retorted that Jupitus's comic idea had sown its own seeds of destruction in seeking to establish the sun as economically important. If Jupitus's idea of the economic place of the sun was true, then the sun would not be merely "incidentally economically important, but absolutely necessary, so that the cow people, if properly enlightened, would seek to worship it. Furthermore, if his other idea of the sun being a star was true, then they would all be justified in worshipping the stars as "economically essential, indeed, the most ecomically essential things in the universe.
"Enough, enough, my friends! I bore of these senseless debates, let's drink another toast and see this marvel above us. To the stars one and all! It was Jupitus, seeking to rescue the evening from becoming a dissection of his own failed and unpopular ideas. For now, the others joined the flow, eyes were turned skyward, drinks were refilled, and a hearty toast made.
"To the stars, one and all!

There's nothing wrong with telling a friend about your problems

Later that evening Beatleguise and Hartle, having grown drunk and determined as the stars shone brighter, decided to depart the roof top gathering and stroll to greener pastures. The wife's of the other prominent teachers had arrived from a wife's gathering, held in the court of the Temple of Osiris, which had evidently been very fruitful and interesting. The wife's were gathered in an intense gabble of humorous gossip which none of the husbands could tempt them away from, nor find any interest in. Badmonis and Sirius stood at the ledge, a long white wall where one could put down a cup of rice wine and gaze at the masses milling through the wide streets and over the sprawling steps of central Reflection.
Sirius was quiet, and Badmonis remarked so, although Sirius was never a particularly talkative character. He preferred to stay aloof from the boyish debates that characterized his appointed set. It was perhaps why he was the Director, and they the Senior Teachers. Badmonis waited, mostly patiently, for Sirius to pull himself from his hole of quiet incommunicado.
"Look down there, Badmonis, if you can pull your ever faithful head from the stars, and tell me what you see.
Badmonis pulled his head away from its customary, slightly cocked posture, and gazed down at the square below. It was full, not to breaking point, but comfortably full. The people didn't move quickly, but swirled casually, like a relaxed glass of water, in pools and eddies. There was a low murmur of voices, audible but undistinguishable. The only raising of voices were in laughter and in those louder words that tended to illicit laughter. Faces were visible, slightly cocked upwards, very few glancing feet wards, and it seemed as if all had at least a grin, if not more sign of laughter and happiness.
"I see the greatest gathering of people that has ever been.
Sirius turned his head suddenly toward Badmonis, and asked him what else he saw.
"I see a contentment in life that you don't seem to find tonight, Sirius. What's the matter old chum, you didn't even chuckle at the idea of Hartle mooing to a cow, there must be something wrong.
Sirius looked down toward his feet, a sign of great unease.
"Do you believe in the power of a dream, Badmonis?
"Certainly yes, replied Badmonis, instantly. "I've seen stars brighter and breasts larger than I thought possible, and they've all become real. He smaned and gestured to his gesticulating wife, in another area of the roof top, whose breasts were indeed quite ample.
Sirius was not amused.
"I'm not in the mood for such talk, Badmonis, though I know your joke was not entirely without truth.
"She's the greatest star of my life, Sirius. Rejoined Badmonis, but he knew he had taken his humour too far.
Sirius ignored him and impugned his feelings in earnest.
"But seriously, I've had a dream, the likes of which I cannot describe fully to you, yet it filled me with dread and terror and a feeling of death so close yet so far from here. It's impossible for me to explain. Like smoke came out of the ground and filed away our flesh until we ourselves became smoke.
Badmonius, who in all seriousness was not one to dismiss a dream, and who in all truth had dreamt of his wife's ample breasts just the day before he first laid eyes upon them, was shocked by the candid torture which Sirius's words conveyed.
"What did you see, Sirius? Let me share the load with you. Tell me what you saw!
Sirius did his best to remember the images and colours he saw, though they meant nothing to him, and separate them from the feeling of pure hopelessness and loss which permeated the entire experience.
"I saw greys, and browns, and greens. I saw flashing beasts move, whip like, upon fires and smoke. I saw a sky darkened and browned, so that the horizons stars were obscured. I saw a substance the like of which baffles and confuses my mind, materials bent in such a way and with such force, that the fires of our tower could only weep, child like, and admit our swords are but pathetic things. I saw fires so unnatural¦¦I can go on like this for so long. But I saw a people whose heads are bent to the ground, whose minds are filled with destruction and chaos. I could smell their doom, and it smelt awful, like smoke enchanted by demons. I want to forget it, believe me it was so terrible, I want to forget it, but as I look at our homely and enlightened people during their time of communion, I tell you I can only see these fallen people of my dream, possessed by smoke and chaos.
Badmonius stood, captivated by the child like earnestness and sincerity of his friend and mentor.
"It sounds truly evil Sirius, and I dare not answer as the meaning of such a dream. Take comfort though, for you live in our time of the stars. Dreams can be forgotten, and conquered, just like battles and tragedies, and so you must forget. Sing the songs with heart, and perhaps, with luck, you vision will turn out to be nothing but a portent of an upset stomach, or a bad sweep in the sports stakes. Though you felt terrified, your feelings may be out of proportion, for there is nothing to suggest our doom is at hand.
Sirius did feel calmed by this speech, and began to regain control of his terror. He gazed upwards once again, and saw the brightest stars of all twinkle amidst a cloak of diamonds.
"Do they really have souls?
"To look is to see.

Too much of bad thing leads to artistic excession

As has been already remarked, friendly debate and the occasional intellectual argument were common practices of the famous Reflective nightlife. They helped its supremely social people to unbind their imaginations and worship their beloved stars all the more. To wax lyrical about a nights' sky may seem childish to some people in these times, but in the far and distant times of the city of Reflection, it seemed as natural to rejoice in the stars in the evening as to eat breakfast in the morning.
A peculiar feature of the stars, when presented to a simple, yet sophisticated people, is their ability to hone minds. The stars are so ineffably necessary to life, so central, that even today we must admit that all our reality owes them a debt. Indeed, they are reality. And so to a people as yet unburdened with great histories, dismembered poetries, and tragic madness, the stars just fall into place quite naturally as the thing to behold. Who needs invisible gods and untouchable forces, when the beauty of the sky sits happily overhead, in full blaze?
And so we come to the matter of Sirius's dream. Why should such a man, at the top of his profession, living contentedly among friends and loved ones in a time where spiritual angst was unwritten of, dream of such nightmares? What forces prompted such a vivid vision of terror?
The nightmare returned to Sirius the following night, and all following nights after his confessional chat with the ever jovial Badmonius. Though their conversation did comfort him, and sooth his colour, the swift re-run of the same grey and brown nightmare soon brought his anxiety to climax. As he awoke one morning the following week, after enduring seven nights of brutal madness, glimpsing the sad down turned heads of an alien people, he could endure silence no longer. He had refrained from speaking of his torture to another soul, even his buxom wife, since the evening on the roof top with Badmonius, but this was no longer possible.
The first thing he did was to rush to his place of work, the Academy, and requester a large canvas and some colours. As he rushed down the Avenue of Taurus, past the gathering students and sleepily waving palm trees, he failed to notice what a beautiful and calm scene the place was. Heads turned and brows furrowed at his entrance, but all refrained from gossiping about this respected figure of authority.
When the materials arrived, and he pestered the servant away from bringing him his usual tea and Durian, he immediately began to mix the brown, black, grey and greens into varying degrees of sludge. I say sludge because I am illiterate when it comes to precise colours. He mixed at least ten slightly different tones of the same colour, and since that colour has no precise name, I might as well call it by the name that it most evokes in me: sludge. It was an ugly colour, the colour of toxic waste, I might say, and undoubtedly, as we already know, the colour of nightmares.
When the colours had been mixed he was ready to begin the painting, and he started immediately. You must remember also that Sirius's forte was not art and he had never been a very good painter. His academic forte had always been in the human fields: religion and philosophy. Although he was considered skillful with a lute and perhaps with a song he had never painted anything memorable and certainly never shown anything to anyone with the intention of eliciting praise. Today was going to be different, although his intention was definitely not to illicit praise.
The painting took shape slowly and steadily, forming into the image that the people of Reflection would later find unforgettable. The canvas was large and perhaps what could have been a morning's work turned into a days work. By the time of the early evening when some were gathered to spot the first star and drink a toast. Sirius stood alone in his darkened office observing his work, his right hand clutching his chin, his back shivering at the depravity of the painting.
Since I have already remarked that I cannot describe colours too well, I will dispense with a long and detailed description of Sirius's work. Neither will I try to describe it as a native citizen of Reflection would see it. The problem is that a native citizen would see it as an emotion, a bad, evil, terrifying emotion. They, just like Sirius himself, couldn't hope to understand what it was they were looking at. On the other hand, for us, dear reader, it is a different story. We may not find his picture appetizing, it would certainly appear evocative, but we would understand what we were looking at.
Sirius, once satisfied with the finishing touches to his dream memory, immediately ordered that it be place on the highest balcony of the administrative building of the Academy. As the sun set soothing in the east and the murmur of society began, a new torch was lit in the city of Reflection. The students gathered in the grounds below looked up and gasped harshly, as if the air had been forced from their lungs, and they had suddenly woken up into a new and terrible world.
Readers, I can only tell you straight what was on the picture. A huge, foreboding tank crushed newly dead bodies and dismembered cars; people fled away quietly, heads down, through the wide, over-passed streets of a cloudy, dirty, polluted city. Everything was sludge.

The future haunts the new generations

Later that evening, a large number of students gathered within the grounds of the city, distraught by the monstrous picture their beloved Director had forced upon them. A sense of doom and misapprehension pervaded the scene, flowing from the fearful incomprehension that all felt.
"Whatever possessed the great Sirius to draw such a picture? One bearded student asked another. "It's a sign of our doom, the doom of all civilizations. Replied another, in typical fashion of that evenings mood.
"But I don't understand the scene at all, remarked one art student, "there isn't even one star in the sky! Why would someone with such a refined mind create something like that, something so bereft of finesse?
"There's no understanding such a thing by thought alone, finally one bold student realized, "we must ask him why he has done it. Only then will we ever understand.
They all stared up again, unwillingly, at the giant portrait that sat menacingly on the porch far above, seeming to bring a great shadow over the whole city, despite the gleaming stars that now shone in the great nights sky.
Sirius sat in the office behind the porch. Holding his head in his hands.
"Better out than in, he had thought that morning. "Better I try to rid myself of the horrible images now, than keep them in my dreams forever. But he didn't feel any better now that the monster had been unleashed onto canvass; he felt only a greater loss, a much harder burden. "What is happening to me?
Suddenly, he felt a pressing urge to recuperate his spirit in the light of the stars. The stars had always been the rock on which his life rested, after all. He went briskly to the balcony, and strode out where he could command an impressive view of both the city and the nights sky. He looked up to the clear sky, and immediately began to calm down. Overhead Orion shone powerfully, his belt gleaming with the wealth of ages. Nearby was the reassuring sight of the Big Bear, a constellation that was known to foster stability. He sighed deeply. Then he ears caught a wisp of something. His name was being shouted. Someone was trying to get his attention.
Down below the students gestured manically, and shouted. "Sirius! Sirius! Tell us what's happening! Sirius Above them it was hard to see what the great man was doing, only that he cast a silhouette over the awful picture.
Sirius bent his gaze from the sky to the gathered, and was shocked. He was not used to seeing faces looking so distressed. From his balcony, when he stood and drank with his friends, they always gazed down at the city and remarked to each other how happy all the faces looked as they strolled in the night time, heads upwards to the stars. But now, he was looking upon the hellish opposite. Heads were all bent upwards, but the occupying faces were all distorted and ugly. "Why do they appear so ugly? He asked himself, and immediately he knew. A great bolt of fear ripped through him. "They look the same as in my dream! And indeed, they did. It was the fear and incomprehension, the terrible picture had tickled something inside them that made their souls wretch with distaste, with an ugly dissatisfaction, and it showed on their faces. "What have I done? He asked himself.
Finally he heard their questions. "Sirius, why have you drawn such a painting?
He thought long and hard about this now, the same thing he had been thinking about for the last week night and day. Not why he had drawn the painting, but why he had been having such dreams. What did they mean? At first he had hardly recognized the people in his dream, they had seemed so alien with their down bent heads and sad faces. But now, seeing the way his students reacted, seeing the manic touch his image had given their behaviour, he thought he might have the answer.
"Why have I drawn this picture? He bellowed down to them. "I don't know the why of it, only the what.
The students, excited that he was finally communicating, shouted shrilly up to up. "What, Sirius, what is your picture? It seems so unfamiliar and evil to us.
"It is the future, our future. It will happen to us, one day. I don't know how, or why, or when, but it will happen, it is our fate.
All below in the crowd gasped, and for one minute, their was silence.

News travels fast

It was drawing to eleven, and the usual gathered, this time on the roof of Badmonis' house. His wife was telling them of a new theory she had been studying, which held that the intake of small amounts of poisons every day could benefit ones health significantly in the long term. Jupitus agreed, but Hartle scoffed loudly at the idea, saying that if he wanted to kill himself he would rather use the old and tested method of sword falling, which though bloody was much more efficient and honorable. Also, he would rather not have to contemplate his death every day, as Mrs. Badmonis' method required, which was most spiritually unhealthy. Jupitus was about to rejoin on both points, but was interrupted when a small group of students arrived, looking flustered and out of breath.
"Whatever's the matter with you? Asked Hartle sharply.
"It's the Director, sir, they replied in earnest, trying desperately to recover their decorum, and their breath, "we're very worried about him.
At the mention of Sirius' name, Badmonis swerved his head.
"Sirius, what's the matter with him? He asked, deep concern in his voice.
The students struggled to explain coherently. The words "painting, "future and "locked were audible, but in no reasonable form. Badmonis tried to take control of the situation.
"Be quiet, all of you! He shouted. "Now, you there, I know you, your names Aries, isn't it? He gestured toward a lanky student with deep, southern features.
"Yes, I am Aries, Professor.
"Well, Aries, please tell me what has happened, clearly. He emphasized.
Aries replied promptly, all gathered listened closely.
"Director Sirius has painted an extremely disturbing canvass and placed it on his balcony. It's some kind of vision he's had. He said it was the future. He won't come out of his office. We're very worried. The painting is truly horrific.
All stared at each other in wonder. What could their trusted Director have drawn? Their trusted Director who always found the compromise in arguments, who was always at pains to remind all about the power of the stars. Their quiet, reliable, good natured Director.
Badmonius was the first to speak up. "We must go to him now.
His wife, who had been examining him as the situation unfolded, questioned him anxiously.
"Do you know something about this, Badmonius? You haven't told me anything, yet you seem to be especially alerted.
He looked at his wife with honest concern.
"I'm sorry my dear, I did know something, but I thought it unimportant. Let us go to him now, I will explain to everyone on the way.
And so they all began the walk to the Academy grounds in haste.

Running to a raging fire

As they were running, Badmonis told of his encounter with Sirius the previous week.
"He said it was the most terrible dream he'd ever had, but I couldn't understand what he meant. He spoke of smoke and fire, and downbent heads. It was probably the only time he'd ever been unable to communicate properly.
"Oh yes, Hartle spoke up authoritatively, "well I'll not say I've never heard of such happenings before. But let's wait until we see him and this monstrous canvas before we decide.
The seven who were running; Badmonis, his wife, Hartle, Jupitus, Aries the student, and two other students, soon attracted the attention of the evening by walkers. As has already been remarked, it was most unusual in Relfection for anyone to be seen in a flustered, worried looking hurry, least of all a group of high ranking academics. Most people refrained from getting in their way, or asking what was happening; it wasn't their business. But one citizen did, and he did so largely because it was his business. That citizen was Polmonis, and he was one of the twenty bell ringers of reflection.
"What on earth's the matter? He shouted as they past the Temple of Nightsun, where he patrolled. He recognized Hartle and Jupitus from the City meetings, and knew them as a pair of over educated, mostly incomprehensible, but largly honest citizens.
At first the runners didn't hear him, but after he shouted "Stop! for a second time and began ringing his bell they did.
"Thankyou, now can you please tell me what all the fuss is about. You're distracting people from the stars with all that hasty running of yours.
Badmonis spoke up for them. "We don't intend to distract, good sir, but we ourselves are distracted. We fear that something is terribly wrong with the great Sirius.
"Wrong? Fretted Polmonis, "Is he sick? Has he been injured?
"No, my friend, but through some madness the likes of which we are unfamiliar with, he has been moved to create a canvass. A canvass I have only heard about but which we are now on our way to see.
At this point Aries added his testimony to demonstrate the severity of the matter at hand.
"I have seen it, and it is truly terrible. Let us go so that we can attend to our Director.
"Yes, please come with us if you wish. Invited Badmonis agreeably.
"Ok I will, I think the services of a bell ringer might be required.
And so they were joined by Palmonis the bell ringer who brought with him his authority and skill as a bell ringer.
When they arrived at the courtyard where the students had earlier looked up in disgust, they were shocked to see Sirius lying on the grassy ground, attended to by a large body of students. The canvas was not visible due to the quality of light, but their attentions were in any case fully caught up by the health of Sirius. The attending students soon glimpsed that superiors had arrived, and made way for them to inspect their Director.
"Oh my god, what's happened to him? Shrilled Badmonis' wife.
"It looks as if he's had an accident. Intoned Hartle.
"We must get a doctor here. Suggested Jupitus, and some students at the scene gestured that one had already been called for.
"What happened to him? Demanded Badmonis.
When they finally reached the centre of the crowd they were greeted by the sight of Sirius lying, eyes closed, blood streaking his forehead, limbs randomly placed on the grassy ground.
"How did he get like this, somebody tell me? Growled Hartle angrily to the crowd of forlorn students. One was eventually bold enough to speak up.
"He jumped, sir. We asked him where his knowledge came from, and he jumped.
"What knowledge, I don't understand? Whatever made him do such an act?
"We don't know, replied the nervous student, "but he said his painting was the future, our future. Naturally we questioned this; the painting was horrific, sir, and he went into a deep thought. Before we knew it he had jumped. I hope he can be revived, sir, if he does know the future we must find out more.
Badmonis sat on his knees next to his injured friend and stroked his forehead. He urged the gathered to stand back.
"Give him some star light and air, you ravenous dogs!
He spoke softly into Sirius's ear, trying to coax him from unconsciousness.
"Sirius, my friend, you have no need to fear. We are here with you. Whatever you saw, whatever you know, we can discover it's true meaning together. Do not despair, come back to us. You will heal, we will progress.
But Sirius forhead felt like fire to Badmonis' soft touch, and in his mind fires raged.
He was running down a thin street with high walls on either side. It was night time but there were no stars. There was no grass, no trees, no flowers and no people. The air smelled bad. It was noisy. He was running from something terrible. Temporarily, he had forgotten, but the wall behind and to his left burst open, concrete and bits of shiny silvery things flew towards him, scaring his body painfully. Then he remembered. The monster. It was on his tracks, and it wanted to crush him. He saw the long, hard arm begin to creep from inside the smashed wall, and he ran. It was big, huge, many times his size. Too big for the small street. But it just burst through everything in it's path.
Soon it's whole form had emerged and the huge arm was turning to face him. He was still running, but then a flash of light and an ear splitting sound stopped his ears and balance from working. He could no longer hear the noises, no longer feel what forward and backwards were. But he kept running. He was nearly at the end of the small street. He could see more people at the end of the street. Soon he would be out of this corridor of death. But suddenly the giant silver arm flashed again and an even louder noise broke into his head and shook his brain. Everything was in two. And the wall next to him exploded. Bits of the wall flew at him at a hundred miles an hour and knocked him to the floor.
At first he couldn't get up, couldn't move it hurt so much to nod his head. But his hearing returned and he was soon overwhelmed again by the giant beast. It was still coming after him, destroying all mercilessly in it's path.
He finally got up, and stumbled toward the end of the small street. When he got there he saw many men with black shiny things that covered their heads and made them look like evil ghosts. They walked together in an odd way, and all wore exactly the same green and red clothes. He was scared, but behind him the silver monster was still churning down the street. He tried to stay at the side of the larger street to avoid the men who were walking funny, but they weren't walking funny any more. Now they were running and shouting and angry and they were holding some shiny things that looked like sticks and fire came out of the sticks. He wanted to pray to the stars but when he looked up all he could see was a large structure that seemed to have been built over the street. It had spaces on either side, but when he looked at them all he could see was brown clouds.
Before long one of the angry men saw him and started shouting. He couldn't understand what he was saying. But then some more of the men with black things on their heads started to look at him and run towards where he was. He got scared and fled, but he was injured and they were running fast. Soon one was behind him and he hit him on the head with his big stick thing. Sirius fell. Then some more arrived and they all started to kick him on the floor. They turned him onto his back so he could see them. They were all laughing and shouting and spitting. Then one of them pointed a stick at him and said "animal laughing. Fire and a cracking noise came out. He felt pain briefly but then he was gone.

The End?

Sirius never woke up, and what remains of the history of this city is obscure, tragic and irrelevent. Suffice to say the City itself never quite woke up from this tragic nightmare, and its memory was lost in the fog of succeeding generations eager to forget.