Yet I can't get these thoughts out of my head. Flashes of colours other than black and grey. I might just be hallucinating because of the complete sensory deprivation these tired surroundings have placed me in. Or this place itself is a hallucination. Lets just go with that. This isn't real. This can't be real. But its grasp on me doesn't waver. I'm still afeared. I'm not ready to find out if it's real or not. If the thing breathing down my neck is real. The colours soothe me. The concentrated orb of yellow that spins my mind adrift when I focus on it, emitting orange rays that hug my battered conscious. I keep getting lost in thought as I write. I need to keep writing. And still the green waves are all I have to write about now. They caress my ankles which I imagine are just as bruised as my wrist that I see moving almost independently of me, my mind, while writing this.
YOU ARE READING
If_only_I_were_real.
Historia CortaEverything seems so simple in the most complicated of ways. At this hour the dark only contains monsters of your own creation yet you feel at peace with them. It is no longer only their home, you feel welcomed here too.
