The sleep that eluded me brought about thoughts that would leave notions which are in the details of the ghost at the wheel as they would remain of shadows looking on. Dark as it would remain within the shadow told in the eyes of the one who relates. It would be told from memories seen from a black sky, that when the dreams are told of when they dont have a memory at all. It would draw from the sleep as the ocean of silence, which it would become from the depths of something that cannot be described. From this ocean of silence which the hours tick away without signs of passing. As it would pass from these eyes where they are penned in the glow, it would become in them which the dreams echo what was told from the pages of a faded memory. From them become the hiding in the darkness that fades, looking from years that ticks from hours that come to pass when they would be seen from the brief shadows of death looking on. From where it would stand among the places gathered and described from what would become from echoes of the weird. As what becomes from something as what draws from the emotions within a shade of black. From an eluded sleep, and it would echo from the dreams which described as bleeding wounds without some form of end. Encircled thoughts become from them as the body falls into a place which is numb to the touch. In the places which grow from a form that described in the shapes of darkness that fade from places that cannot be etched into the mind. From them in the sleep which is eluded from them in the dreams that fade when the darkness becomes the etchings into a daylight sleep. When it seems when hours pass quickly as they wane into days as it would seem; when the thoughts become a form of habits, between the places that dwell watching from below. Shadows which watch as they fall, in the times which seen as a place where time slowly decays. In the crawl of dreams when they become the memories which lead into sands that would have an importance that were not of their own; while it crawls in the sands which become the ocean of silence. Where it would become within the dreams as one sees the night when it cries for the deceased. Where they see them looking down, the dreams as they are observed by the son of the rain when the night cries fire. Where it would stand before them in the eyes of the fall, turning from into tears to blood the years of haunting tribulation become the final hours of Judgment Day. From them as it would describe from the waking eyes which stare to the darkness from the skies, and what takes them in a distance within the memories of the force of the entity. Shadows encircled the walls when one looks on within the ocean of silence becoming the years that fade from the past of memories. As it would be described from them in the blood dripping from the eyes looking on while the children of the congregation whisper their prayers to the skies which are never heard. Where it gathers among the closed eyes which tell from them, in places which are yet to be understood. From them in the echoed pages embraced from nightmares that live within the patterns as the body sleeps, and in the durations when I close my eyes one can see the fading darkness leading into the places when the night begins to cry. From them in places which bring the echoes of what would become the voices of brain death, the telling of the signs that would become damnation. In the horrors told from revelations within a darkness dwelling in dreams, the echoes told from the prayers of the congregation become all that would been yet it would stand among them when the night sky proceeds to cry. Of time taken which become only the beginning as what described from them when the son of the rain is seen; beneath the keys of death and hell when they were seen, in places that gathered from the memories of clay and fire. Awaken, said the whisper, a darkness that awaits becoming the one that would not be seen beyond these doors. You will see the force of the entity when you awaken from this from the dream that you see here, it would be the foreshadowing of the second death. Where they gathered in a single file line waiting for the age of damnation become, between the words written by prophets. From these you see what is described from them become the echo of the carnival whispers. The questions I ask would have no answers, I would respond to the whisper, The waiting of what stands there within an ocean of silence, that figure looking on is the ghost at the wheel then. That it would all drift in the oceans of time, looking on within a darkness as you describe of them standing in line. From them of what you describe the nightmares that one awaken from, in the places which stand of silence which you watch. Beneath the silence of what was said, the dreams adrift from oceans that had been lost among the dead. Of gathered from the dream encircled within a parable of revelations, when they are all what would become after they drifted away gone with shadows without the sense of direction while they drift within the ghost at the wheel. There which they stand among the seat and the hand points back at them, looking from a shadow of what they had left behind. Silence. The things that are told within a silent whisper when it all drifts away. As what would be written while a courier sleeps, within the ocean of silence it becomes in the eyes of the one who awakens. In them when the shadows dance from the perspective of the one whose mind had been faded from their sanity while their faith struggles to keep their head above the sands. As in perspectives which are told from the points of view which drown in the oceans of silence; among to where the shadows begin to fall. Where they fall adrift within the cycles as the ghost is at the wheel. Sleep. It would become from the echo of sleep that becomes the thoughts eluded within the shades and thoughts among the scrawled pages. Now sleep, said the whisper, waiting for the darkness to fall to become the thing that would come to pass. Which it would pass into the hours of the midnight hour, becoming from when they are within the places they cannot seek to find. Within the oceans of silence become the darkness that wander within the places in time where they follow the echoes of the carnival as it comes. Which it is gathered among the sands that you wont feel any heat off the sands of this desert. I kept hearing that whisper throughout the duration of the dream, the hours which turn within the sleep which follows from the oceans of silence. From them which draw from the sands which become from the oceans of silence, told from them in the eyes when it comes while they are drifting away. It draws from them in the places which descend from the further minds when the body slips from the eluded sleep. From the eyes of the notice of when it becomes everything that drifted away descending from ashes become the whispers after the son of the rain. I have seen this another time and another era, I related, the thoughts as they would be seen from the sleep pending within the chiming of the bells when they toll. Of maelstroms which describe what stands in them as I would be that one described as the sleeping courier, that it would be from the dreams which reside inside the mind where it leads into the oceans of silence. It would become from them as it would be from strands of life which descend into the places which the eternal darkness become an echo of what was there. In what waits within the darkness that is seen from the sky as it would be seen from the perspective in the son of the rain. When they become from the dreams and prophecy and what comes from the nightmares, become of age. In them which wait telling from desires which fade from the oceans of silence, the hours that go when the dreams begin to drift away. When the sleep becomes swept with the tides after the hours which follow from the fade of the rapture when everything is drifted away. From them in the sands which the shadows dance as they walk within the oceans of silence; in the eyes that would see from the sleeping body that fades from echoes that become from a prophecy words found in places that gather among the shadows of the lost, and memories when they had been left behind. From them which would become of the perspective of I the words which describe from the darkness that falls from the places descending from the sky while it would become in the years from the Son of the Rain. From them in the beginning of a genesis that would follow from the dreams seen from the eyes of the sleeping courier, from them as seen from the lights of the sky when it burns. In where they begin, the whispers told from the lives of the end which become from the eluded sleep. From eluded minds which look on as one described from a closed-eyed perspective, when they gathered from the ocean of silence deeper from darkness when they see themselves slowly drift away. In the dream which described the separation, which it would become of them within the eyes of darkness watching on when the congregations gather in rows. Do you see them? the whisper stated, they are the ones who are gathered within the lake of fire for all time. From them which they denied the cross, they become those who which gathered in the place of what was damnation. That one can see the Leviathan looking on within an ocean of silence that becomes the eternity that waits for them, young and old alike. From these dreams you see from the eyes of the sleeping courier, everything that fades within shadows when all that is left behind and drifting away. From them which you have the lost all sense of direction, when you see them walking with the shadows and the ghost at the wheel. Descending from places that where you cannot begin to even describe, that it would gather from the places which cannot be fathomed for the human eyes that it would be seen when they die just watching. Silence it would draw from the oceans that fade into memory when everything around them becomes as death took place. From the dream which becomes from the descending, among the pages which become the eyes as seen looking at the eyelids lost and adrift with the ghost at the wheel. Beneath the shifting of directions that it would become from the shadows as it was looking on, from the ashes turn into the questions that would fade from memory as from when it gathers from darkness into sleep. When they would describe of the premonitions of the sky as it burns; the dreams from another time another era looking on. Of the things lurking within the patterns of an eluded sleep, the dreams which dwell within the oceans of silence.
"Ghost At The Wheel" is like a dark rose blooming! A story with prophectic & profound overtones, beautifully descriptive atmospheric prose, and a powerfully climatic ending that gave me goose bumps! So very different from "Halloween Girl" which I had the pleasure to read at Fictionpress... but the tick, tick, ticking kept resonating in my brain as I read this chilling piece! You have a very unique style that easily demonstrates that the mind can be the most terrifying
monster anyone could hope to imagine! Well done my friend! Looking forward to reading more.
Nick--
Your prose is like poetry--very descriptive and beautiful, even if gory and terrifying. A whisper can be so much scarier than a scream, and your whispers scare me to death. Great read. Sandy
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The Wholly Book of Exodus is humorous adult literature that features adult language, situations and content. It is the companion book of Jay Dubya's The Wholly Book of Genesis that satires the entire first book of the Bible.
The Wholly Book
