Kuraudo7777 wrote:
Here's the first story:
I am dreaming, never-ending. All I can see is a blank whiteness, pure and immaculate, then suddenly tinged with crimson. The crimson spreads across me, red as a ripe strawberry, red as life. I hear muted screams, then sirens, then a hollow silence.
Memories fall softly, like snowflakes: my mother by my bedside, weeping into the white sheets covering my body, surrounded by the white walls.
There is another face now, smiling at me, wearing a winged mask.
“The choice is yours: awaken and continue living, or depart with me.”
I open my eyes, and breathe, and the dream shatters.
Very nice. I agree with Raleigh, that's some excellent imagery.
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Yet in my new wildness and freedom I almost welcome the bitterness of alienage. For although nepenthe has calmed me, I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men.
-H. P. Lovecraft, "The Outsider"