A drop of ink fell from the fine nib of his pen. The ink was a midnight black and it shone slightly in the orange candle light. He wrote often, the pen in his hand gliding effortlessly, like a metallic ballet dancer twirling gracefully on a stage. He wrote every letter carefully, forming words, then transforming them into sentences.
Every drop of ink, falling like a dark tear from a metallic eye. Thunder roared outside, causing him to look up from his paper, and out the window into the dark world outside of his bright, candle lit home. The bright full moon reflected in his blue-grey eyes. There is a knock on the door, he puts his pen on the table gently. He walks to the door and opens it, there is a young lady standing there. He blinks, and the lady is gone.
He picks up a candle cautiously, and walks outside the safety of his room. He walked silently down the stairs, he held the candle carefully. The young lady he saw at the door was now standing near the warm, crackling fire in the living room, he heard a noise behind him, and he turned around. When he turned back to face the fire, she was gone once again.
He walked into the kitchen, it was a mess. There were broken plates and glasses, but what caught his eye the most was the bloodied knife on the kitchen floor. He finally realised, none of this was real, he was only having a nightmare. He knew what this nightmare was about, it was his little sisters death. Tears flooded into his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, his tears were black, just like the ink. He fell to his knees and whispered underneath his breath, "I didn't mean to kill her..."
