The Coldest War
Nearly thirty years ago, dreams came alive. Sensitive souls went mad, and even dull minds found their darkest fears and fantasies rising, unbidden, to obsess them. Mothers slew their children, or held them so close as to smother them. Artists created art so furiously that they starved, or thirsted to death, smearing red “paint” from abraded fingers. Entire families simply walked into the sea. Fires set by arsonists raged unchecked. Society crumbled as every dark hunger, painful memory, sadistic fantasy became too strong to suppress. Humankind’s id became suddenly dominant.
It never really stopped. All that changed was that those who survived became… desensitized to it. Those who live in the world today are still afflicted with the Madness. Every time they close their eyes to sleep, mad dreams fill their heads, so real as to become indistinguishable from true memory. Those old enough to remember the times before the Madness find that they can no longer clearly differentiate the truth from twisted versions of history. The Madness erodes and degrades the sense of history, of self. One can only be what one is in the now.
But the Madness also contains truth of its own, revelations, glimpses of prophecy, of intuitive connections the rational mind could never make. Those who dare contemplate their dreams can often receive unique insight into the world around them.