The Emptiness and My Companion_Sweet Dreams_"Who's Your Hero?" My 6th Grade Teacher As
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The Emptiness and My Companion
The Emptiness and My Companion I woke up. I woke up, that seems important somehow, though I don’t know why. Just, I woke up. Though where I woke up in unfamiliar. Not unfamiliar as in I never been here before, which it is, but unfamiliar as in I cannot place where I am. It is like no place I have ever been before. Everything around me seems just out of sight. Think of being stuck in a fog where you can see the outlines of objects, but not the objects itself. Just there is no fog, nor any objects insight. Just a neutral color all around me, allowing me to only see a few i...
Sweet Dreams
Have you ever felt like you're losing your mind? Actually worried about going insane? I have. Recently, at least.For the last two weeks I've been having these dreams. Nightmares, really. I think. They always start the same. Or do they?I'm on my way to work, running late but stopping by my favorite café on the corner, regardless. There is a long line - there always is. They have the best coffee in town so of course it's immensely popular among the nine to five zombies in the morning. Like me.As I stand in line, a little anxious because of the time and the vast row of people ahead of me that kee...
"Who's Your Hero?" My 6th Grade Teacher Asked
Trigger warning: Drug abuse and depressive talk.Her chest heaves and falls, this ongoing rhythm creating an atmosphere of serenity and stillness. The AC vent on auto just above her head, a caramel-brown piece of hair dancing in the cool air. I stop typing up my next speech that I am planning to give in less than a week and look at my mum. My eyes start to get blurry as I fixate on this piece of hair flying around merrily. Just as it is pushed to the right, the hair stops dead. Falls back onto her closed eyes. Oh no. Not again. My heartbeat quickens as this small incident drags me down memory l...
Memories Like Smoke
Arya Locke glanced down at the knife in her hands. It trembled slightly and she tightened her grip.Thinking too hard could seal her fate. Thinking too little was just as deadly a mistake.She walked over to the window, in reflection.Dusk was arriving on slow currents, the sun setting: a distant orb of orange. The sky hueing to dimmer shades, fading down into the grey buildings and the few sad trees, with green heads bowed in their lonely sorrow. The only ones sentenced to this monotoned and strangely empty street.She hadn’t always hated New York, but in the past few months of abiding here, her ...