Beauty In Death [DreamNotFound]

chapter nine

What is reality?

George had difficulty telling between what was a dream and what was reality. How did he know that anything was real?

'pinch me'

But how did he know the feeling of a pinch wasn't just a simulation in his mind wired to think he could feel it.

Everything is made of atoms, small little dots. Doesnt that sound ridiculous? Oh and those atoms? They came from star dust. Yeah right, and the toe nails on his feet were the same material as his hair.

That was supposedly true too.

What if he was a robot, a simulation. Trapped inside a movie where all the actors knew they what was going on besides him, they were all in it to trick him into believing that this was real life. How did he know the people around him weren't just metal machines? How did he know people saw the same colours as him? Well for starters they didnt, as he recently found out that he was colour blind. But how would they know that his blue wasn't the same as their blue, no one but you can look through your eyes and hear your thoughts and process your body besides you, so how would they know.

George was having one of those moments where you can't desifer wether you're in a dream or not. You can touch and feel things but something is off, either you're too tired or suddenly nothing seems to matter. It simply the fact that it was too different to be real.

Did he really just watch dream kill over three people and lay those same dirty hands all over his goosebump ridden skin, brushing his lips tentatively against his ear. He wasn't sure it actually happened. It definitely wasn't a topic he was about to bring up.

Why did it happen to him?

There are billions and billions of constellations, planets and universes. Stars, milky ways and galaxies. Sun's one hundered times the size of earth and black holes larger than our solar system. George was so small, so insignificant. Nothing mattered, nothing ever did.

So why was he here? Why was he chosen to fight in the largest game of manhunt the world had ever seen? Why was he trained to kill? Why was he stripped from his family along with his dignity? Why did Dream console and confide in him? Why was he chosen? Why him?

And why did he have to be knee deep in grass, absolutely tearing his way through the forest, black venomous Panthers hot on his heals.

Thorns and branches scratched at his arms, threatening to stab the wound that still pulsed on his bicep, warm blood leaking under the bandaid. His feet thundered across the ground like a beating drum, each hit sewing together a disastrous funeral chant as he was most likely tieing together the ends of his demise in a scrawny little bow.

Tumbling down across the terrain, his feet slippery on the dewy grass, George fought to keep up with Dream who's longer legs had propelled him forwards a lot quicker than George could, arms flailing about. The wind cut across his cheeks and tugged on his hair, most likely giving him whiplash as his face tossed and turned, servaying his escape route.

He couldn't climb, they could too. He couldn't swim, they could too.

Under the Panthers sleek black fur, were monstrous muscles, thick with tissue that tensed and untensed with every lunge of their legs. Eyes yellow with poison, they glared daggers into the two competitors backs, figurative red targets unmistakably printed on their shirts.

There was about five of them, George could make out, all plummeting towards them at a tremendous speed, snarling and yapping at their heals, hungry for flesh.

Trees dashed past his peripheral vision, blurred with the intensity of the speed he was running at, they showed no signs of thinning, if anything they were getting thicker, luring them deeper into the biome. He had no clue where he was going, he was sure Dream didn't either as they had been continuously running in a straight line for what felt like an hour but was only really six minutes. He wanted to call out and ask for a plan but he couldn't find his voice, only the raspy pants that were oozing out of his opened mouth, heavily grasping for air, his lungs straining under the aerobic respiration.

His bones felt brittle and weak under the heavy crashes of his body slamming against the earth, splinters of pain shooting up his limbs with every stride. He was going so fast he felt like he was flying, drunk even. In any normal circumstance he would be giggling and laughing at the feeling but the only thing he felt like doing now, was crying and throwing up.

As he continued to run he some how collected his shaking hands to pull out his bow and arrow, Dreams eyes widening at the sight, he probably thought it was a bad idea but George wasn't going back now. He, nor dream, had any other plans other than this.

In one swift motion, George swivled on his feet, as if in slow motion, drawing back an arrow in the way he had practised and letting it fly in the direction of the Panthers. He had no time to see if it landed its hit before completing his 360 and continuing to run, his speed only decreasing by 0.5 seconds as when he had turned, he jumped, his body still moving forwards in mid air.

His feet regained their balance underneath him as he sprinted forwards, afraid that he was about to run out of stamina.

He heard cheers come from his right. Dream was throwing his arms in the air, a grin on his face.

He had landed the shot.

Warmth and pride spread through his body, giving him a burst of speed and adrenaline, visions of hope dancing through his mind. He didn't think running away from his inevitable death could feel the way it did right that second, a broad smile etched across his face. High on his victory, he repeated the same trick, remembering Dreams tutoring lessons in his mind and placing his hands the way Dream taught him to, letting go of the draw string. Another cheer from his right sent hormones of serotonin through his body, happiness flooding his senses.

He was having... fun?

"Yes!" George whooped, screaming into the sky, bubbles of laughter erupting out his throat and receiving a few chuckles back from Dream in return.

He was soaring now, flying down the terrain, dashing between tree and bush, plant and animal, so quickly he hadn't even processed he was. Another arrow hit, Dreams screams of delight ripped through the forest, his hoarse voice dry in his sore throat, coming out croaky. George decided he liked the sound of it.

That was until the pitch lowered and the scream turned agonising.

Dream wasn't beside him anymore.

He wedged his feet into the ground and skidded to halt. Behind him, further up the forest, was Dream, sword in hand fighting off the Panthers left that swarmed around him, pulling himself up from the ground. He must have lost his footing whilst they were busy celebrating.

George's instincts raced him towards Dream before his mind could even keep up. Out of the five previous panthers, only three remained, perched on their sterdy hind legs, lunging at Dreams lacerated body, cuts intricately sliced up and down his arms from the animals claws.

Reaching into his pocket George pulled out his dagger, gripping it tightly in his left hand, rouge knuckles bleeding white. One of the Panthers broke away from the group attacking Dream and snarled at George, daring him to come closer. High on adrenaline, George lunged at the creature, swinging his knife forwards and cutting a deep wound into the sleek black fur of the monster. The animal cowered and whined, retracting from George's presence and George almost felt sorry for it before it growled and bared it's pointed teeth, pouncing onto him.

The weight felt like a thousand pounds, large voluminous paws thudding against George's shoulders, shoving his frail body to the ground, towering over him, gnashers clashing in front of his face, threatening to bite him. His face scrunched up as a gasp forced it's way out his mouth, flinching at the sight of the dark beasts jaws lashing at his throat.

With all the strength he could muster, he plummeted his knife deep into the Panthers heart, puncturing the blood flow and inevitably killing it. The Panthers beastly body lifelessly dropped to the floor, George struggled to heave it's body off of him, blood splattered all across his face.

A scream came from his left, as a body collapsed to the floor again, seemingly out of energy. Panthers dived in on top of them, swallowing his body from view, their poisonous claws swiping at his limbs, emitting more blood curdling screams from his weakened, damaged soul.

"Dream." George breathed, eye brows knitting together, agonisingly worried.