Wednesday, February 18, 2009

A story I started not so long ago...

Here goes:

It all began after waking abruptly from my dream, or as one might say a nightmare. There was so much blood and gore that I couldn’t make any sense of it. Amid all the chaos, was a guy not much older than myself. He had been standing in the middle of it all. His shirt was matted down with a liquid so dark and thick that it made it hard to tell whether it was dark or just fully covered in blood . The most significant thing about him was his face. It was utterly stunning, outlined by true black hair. His skin was as pale as snow, which brought out his eyes. Those eyes held some sort of an understanding between us that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

When it was all coming to an end, and my mind was slowly bringing me back to reality, a warm vanilla scent gently filled the air around me and erased any memory of the metallic scent of blood that hung in the air. He reached, with blood soaked hands, for me with a look of confusion on his face. I couldn’t help but reach for him, seeing the pain and distress in his eyes. Just as the warmth of his hand enclosed my hand, a darkness swept over us.

The next thing I knew, I was awake. I found myself panting as I sat up, trying to untangle myself from the sheets. I hadn’t wanted to wake up; I hadn’t wanted to leave him all alone. I couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I had saved him.

As I began to get out of bed, I felt a presence in the corner of my room. It was still dark, and I couldn’t see who or what was there. My heart was probably beating a million miles per minute at the time. Still watching carefully, I turned on the lamp by the side of the bed, and flinched when the shadows moved.


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