"POPPET! " "Poppet? Who called anyone Poppet anymore? Who is it calling someone Poppet?" "DON'T RUN! " "Run? Is it talking to me? Run why...why would I run? Wait... do I know this voice? Is it familiar?" "WE CAN FIX THIS!" "Why would you need me? Is this Arthur? No, he would never admit something so obvious so openly and freely... but who could possibly need me? Bryan? Selene? Quil? No... It felt too different to be them." "YOU CAN'T JUST LEAVE ME HERE!" "Who are you... where are you? I want to help you. I won't leave... who was leaving you?" "PLEASE... please... Abigail. Please don't go." Have you ever had a dream that makes you feel déjà vu... but you can't exactly place a name to the person or situation? That is because it hasn't happened yet. In fact, it may never happen. You have to do a specific action in a certain way to experience the memory making you feel this way. Have you ever had a dream where you aren't anywhere in it and it is as if you are merely watching a scene play out in a movie? This is an event that may or may not have actually happened or will happen. What that reason it is there, is unpredictable. Have you ever had a dream where it was fuzzily grey and you could hear voices yet see nothing? Someone was communicating with you. Whether it happens in the past, future, or through the very dream itself is varying person to person. Dreams are a fickle business... they are forgotten so easily, yet we remember how they made us feel. For example, you remember a dream about something having to do with compartments. You remember that it was a crazy dream... yet you can't remember anything about it at all. Dreams are forgotten for a reason, whether it be over years and years or immediately. They are that way for a reason. Never, I repeat, Never hold on to a dream. If you hold onto dreams then others, worse dreams, come and hold on to you. All dreams, in the end, cause you pai

A poem.

A bloody musket lies on a table in the study of a very distinguished man. It had been last shot about 400 years previously. It had long since rusted over. It was unusable. Every day the man looked at the bloody musket. The dried blood cracking beneath his delicately placed fingers. That day, it was different. That day there was only small droplets of water dotting his pale fingers. It made him curious, even perturbed by this. Why, after all these years, was the blood wet? Shaking hands slammed the gun back in it's velvet box. Throwing himself into a mountain of books to find an explanation, Arthur screamed. He screamed a scream of frustration and heartbreak. Miles away a girl fights her way to the surface of a churning ocean. Due to an extremely high torrent of water, she was able to grab onto the edge of a nearby low cliff. The girl hoisted herself up, and sat on the stone, gasping for breath. There, on the cliff, she saw the shining lights. She looked at herself. Her ragged clothes, her tarnished rapier, and Leslie screamed. She screamed a scream of physical pain and defeat. Both screamed out of mourning.

Truths that are universal... But they might not apply to everyone. I would love some suggestions for topics.