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When I woke, my muscles were cold and aching. From what, I couldn’t recall. Memories, or human minds for that matter, were no doubt perpetually elusive.
There was no way to be sure if it was history or imagination, fact or fiction, dreams or reality. Even history textbooks could be rewritten and diaries burnt and a dream could become a false memory. But somewhere, they must be etched into the heavens and somewhere, these memories, these stories, these feelings, must accumulate into a substantial message.
The white above and around gave no clues and had no traces but beyond, there must be something. Where did they come from and where else would they go? If I could open enough doors, would I be able to understand?
*Credits to Kaisareur and CJTHEZYGOTE for this introduction. You guys are too cool. Much respect from me. And to CellPhoneNovel and takatsufor giving me a chance to be part of the Dream Team!*
