where is reality

Chapter 3-Where I woke

My eyes batted open. Again, I was confused. New clothes, again. This time I was wearing an aztec print hoodie. I sat up from where I was l laying down. As I stood up, I gasped. Not only had my hair been covered in leaves but the tips of my dark hair had gone from being blue to being hot pink. I was startled at what this world could do. The last thing I remember was falling into a deep slumber. I had been sung to sleep with beautiful, marvelous words. They were like that sweet taste after eating your favorite candy, or the warm feeling you get after drinking a whole cup of hot chocolate. It may sound cheesy, but it was delightful.
I turned around to see my surroundings, my shoes crunching on the leaves. As I was looking, I was startled by a noise. It was the noise of a wolf's howl. I quickly looked for the wolves and when I saw them, I looked at them for a while, trying to figure out what to do.
I sat down. I sat down and picked up a stick. I sat down and picked up two sticks. I tapped them against each other. I made a soft rhythm. Then I began to sing. I sang my favorite poem. I had memorized it by heart in the 3rd grade.
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
I softly sang the words of "Do not go gentle" as I spoke the words I began to feel wetness from my eyes. I kept singing though.
"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light"
I don't know why I had kneeled down, or why I had picked up the sticks, or why I had began to sing, but I am glad that I had done that. I am glad because what the wolves did, was amazing.
A/N SORRY FOR THE CLIFFHANGER! I'm kinda filtering Alaina through me b/c thats my favorite poem lol. OKAYYY I have alot planned so please vote and comment what you think the wolves diddd!

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