So, we didn't escape apparently.
I still barely know what's going on, but I know more now:
W.I.C.K.E.D. is a real pain in the ass, walking through sand dunes should be considered a sport, and searching for a mysterious rebel group is like searchin...
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AS EXPECTED, SCREAMS ANDcries echoed across the expansive fields of my fabricated mind, filling every thought, every memory, every blackened corner of my broken brain with the desperate calls of the damned and dead, my skin glowering with goosebumps as the eyes of the ghosts followed my sprinting form.
The Walls swallowed me whole, submerging me in the darkness that poisoned my mind and tainted anything and everything good, my skin painted in the blood and tears of my own wounds and the wounds of those that littered the corridors like disregarded trash.
But they are not trash. They are my friends.
The closest and most-dearest people in my life were left for dead by carnivorous beasts built to roam the corridors and kill anything in sight—yet, they were only created by more vile beings.
Children lined my path like they were nothing. I had to hold back a choked sob as I leapt over the body of a thirteen-year-old Slopper whose name I couldn't remember.
Behind me, like all the dreams before, a Griever followed close behind, it's putrid breath wafting around my desperate form as it's dagger-like teeth nearly snatched at my shirt.
I didn't even have to turn and see it—I knew it was there.
And like always, the monster made by monsters hunted my youthful form, the call of my slaughtered friends nearly a whisper away from reality.
Suddenly, I was on my back, pinned to the bloody floor as the Griever now hung overtop of me, it's teeth embedded in the beige bow that I had jammed into the back corners of its jaws—back in my position from in the final moments of the battle, when seconds felt like hours and minutes felt like years.
All the pain I felt in that moment suddenly came crashing down on me like an unforgettable stamp, my arms trembling with wearing strength and my skull pressed into the concrete.
How could I forget this? How could I move on from this? This moment is burned into my soul as a searing scar that still stings like a raging fire, impeding on my tranquil slumber like an unstoppable storm.
A scream slipped from my lips as I literally held back the beast that could end my miserable existence in seconds if my arms simply twitched the wrong way. Yet, pain fled my every nerve and joint as the Griever pressed its whole weight onto my mortal arms.
Is this what dreaming is gonna be like from now on? I have to keep relieving it? Will I ever escape these memories?
Funny, I so desperately sought for memories before and now I am haunted by the ones I have.
