See grainy, textured landscapes of roughened gorse and heather washed by an all-encompassing misty drizzle, the wind piercing my threadbare wrap dissolving the marrow of my elephant bones.
Then one night I remember was so clear that the sky was the deepest black. There was no moon. Three stars were pinpoints of light in a bottomless sky. I stepped to a rough-hewn promontory that projected far out over a cliff and was overcome with the fear of falling over the edge. The blackest sense wrapped me in foreboding and in undefinable fear I knelt down and inched over moss-covered rocks to the edge. I peered down into the valley below, vertigo making me hug the rocks underneath until my fingers ached, and I could swear that I could see my old familiar town.
The lights of the houses cast a dim light on the streets and in the centre, I caught the memory of a lamp turned down just enough that only the glow of its dying embers remained.
The memory came back to me in vivid detail. Was it his light that was extinguished? No, it could not have been true, I could not have seen such detail even on as clear as night as this, I was too far away. And then imagination took the place of reality and I remembered everything down to its gory end. It did not matter whether I could see my old town or not, I could remember…
Painting Vampire II by Edvard Munch via RawPixel