Installment 1

I sit in a broken chair, surrounded by darkness except for a shape-shifting fire, incessantly mutating and dancing in the eddies of wind swirling around me and through the valley.  Tiny red and gold stars are shot upward, trailing maniacally until they blink and vanish, ash born into the trees beyond.  Its been a long day and it feels good to sink a little farther into the camp chair lilting precariously to the left, a cold bottle of beer sweating slowly through the mesh cupholder next to me.  Its halfway done now, the first half already settling in, hazing the edges of my consciousness, begging for more.  So who am I to resist.  I grab the neck of the bottle and lifting the brown glass to my lips, let the bubbly beverage, hissing and popping as it exits, course over my numb tongue and down the back of my throat.  I hold the last bit to exit the bottle over my tongue for a few seconds, eeking out that last bit of flavor before letting it flow downwards to join the rest already residing in my stomach.  As I place the bottle back in the cupholder, hitting the edge and almost wasting the rest, a gust of wind whistles wearily through the tree tops, coursing lower and lower until it whips around me, catching the dancing flames and sending them on a chaotic, possessed dance.  The flames twirl tightly together, dodging back and forth, penetrating and retreating till the gust moves past and they settle back down to a more normal, waltz like rhythm.  My mind is caught in the frenzy, yearning to follow the dancing flames and gust of wind, flying through the flapping leaves, rubbing gently against the rough bark of the trees gently pressing to and fro.  But my mind shrivels back in, hazing over a little more, freedom for the moment delayed.  I stare off the the trees, unable to see past the first layer of leaves, only able to imagine the dark world watching me from beyond.  The light shifts, shadows race back and forth, perpetually mutating into fantastic creatures, morphing into nightmarish ghouls and goblins.  A log crackles, drawing my mind back to the present, the lilting chair holding my sinking form,  the bottle still sweating, awaiting the next swig which will empty it completely of its contents.  I oblige the innuendos, how could I not.  The remaining brew wastes no time in completing the haze over my consciousness, finally reaching my eyelids.  It forces them lower and lower, till only a sliver of my cornea can gather the light.  I fight the weight.  It feels like my eyelids are tied by string to a winch that is slowly being cranked, any effort futile in resisting.  But still I try.  I close the left and manage a slight shift upwards in my right.  But it doesn't last long.  My left is closed for good and my right can do naught but succumb as well.  The bottle, still engulfed by my hand, slides slowly downward as all muscle tension disappears.  The bottle exits my hand and rockets for the ground below, my head immediately following suit.