Tw: Blood, implied death, derealisation/dissocation
You place your hands on the grass below you. You sit in the middle of nowhere, you don't know how you got here either. You let your torso fall backwards, leaving you to stare up into the sky. The tree above you shields you from the sun, yet the sun doesn't shine. It doesn't blind you or make you squint, even though the brightness is piercing your eyes.
You lift a hand up, yet when you see it, it doesn't feel like it belongs to you. It's yours. Yet not. You put it back down and stare up towards the sun. A shaky breath loves your throat, your vision becomes blurry as you feel the grass becoming damp under your body. You feel destroyed, hopeless, desperate.
Yet you cannot feel. Your nails dig into the soil, and the goo expands alongside you. It captures your arms, your body. You identify it as blood, it's red colour is nauseating and as tears stream down your face the same texture of clotted blood rolls down it.
You're tired. It's time to go to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Stories from Carl's mind
Aktuelle LiteraturTw and Cw warning. Will asign at the begining. I'm not that good at writing, and it's mostly horror than anything.
