Verse/Luka
From Create Your Own Story
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The knife-wielder races to catch up, and a grin appears on his face as he slowly comes to loom over you. He seems to be enjoying it, as his lower face is a mass of pearly white when he finally raises the knife over you. | The knife-wielder races to catch up, and a grin appears on his face as he slowly comes to loom over you. He seems to be enjoying it, as his lower face is a mass of pearly white when he finally raises the knife over you. | ||
| - | You feel a sharp sting in your chest as you jump up. You're breathing heavily as you survey the scene around you: your room, four navy blue walls with a matching carpet. The floor is as messy as ever--covered from wall to wall with your clothes, both dirty and clean. You don't care, though, and simply sit in bed, attempting to reel your body back in. You don't remember the last time your dreams | + | You feel a sharp sting in your chest as you jump up. You're breathing heavily as you survey the scene around you: your room, four navy blue walls with a matching carpet. The floor is as messy as ever--covered from wall to wall with your clothes, both dirty and clean. You don't care, though, and simply sit in bed, attempting to reel your body back in. You don't remember the last time your dreams ''didn't'' try to kill you. |
Which is a true shame, considering you're only thirteen years old--fourteen in a couple months. Your dreams have stressed you out for the last several years, which isn't all bad. They finally convinced you to seek refuge at the tender age of twelve and three-fourths, which you found in the form of very soothing and distracting weed. The memory brings a smile to your face... and reminds you of your little stash. A quick glance at the clock by your bedsides tells it's 3:30 A.M.; your memory tells you it's Thursday. Tomorrow's a school day, but you don't particularly care. | Which is a true shame, considering you're only thirteen years old--fourteen in a couple months. Your dreams have stressed you out for the last several years, which isn't all bad. They finally convinced you to seek refuge at the tender age of twelve and three-fourths, which you found in the form of very soothing and distracting weed. The memory brings a smile to your face... and reminds you of your little stash. A quick glance at the clock by your bedsides tells it's 3:30 A.M.; your memory tells you it's Thursday. Tomorrow's a school day, but you don't particularly care. | ||
Revision as of 16:42, 22 June 2012
Asleep, you toss and turn in bed, your eyes shut tightly as your dream self runs from an knife-wielding shadow. The man's face appears familiar to you, but you can't quite place it. Your dream self continues to run, deep into the endless darkness that's always engulfed your dreams--ever since you turned five and realized things aren't as they should, anyway. At least, your dream self collapses onto the floor, which burns his soft skin with sheer coldness.
The knife-wielder races to catch up, and a grin appears on his face as he slowly comes to loom over you. He seems to be enjoying it, as his lower face is a mass of pearly white when he finally raises the knife over you.
You feel a sharp sting in your chest as you jump up. You're breathing heavily as you survey the scene around you: your room, four navy blue walls with a matching carpet. The floor is as messy as ever--covered from wall to wall with your clothes, both dirty and clean. You don't care, though, and simply sit in bed, attempting to reel your body back in. You don't remember the last time your dreams didn't try to kill you.
Which is a true shame, considering you're only thirteen years old--fourteen in a couple months. Your dreams have stressed you out for the last several years, which isn't all bad. They finally convinced you to seek refuge at the tender age of twelve and three-fourths, which you found in the form of very soothing and distracting weed. The memory brings a smile to your face... and reminds you of your little stash. A quick glance at the clock by your bedsides tells it's 3:30 A.M.; your memory tells you it's Thursday. Tomorrow's a school day, but you don't particularly care.
Though, you are running out, and you might need it so more other day... As you think, you catch sight of your computer. Your screen saver's still running, the words "Hello.", "How are you?", and "I am good." taking turns popping up and fading away.
After a bit of thought, you choose to...
