The Dead Hours' Angel

It felt like I was in a lucid nightmare when I started running.

I was acutely aware of everything; the living sounds of the woods, the slippery brush beneath my feet, the moonless sky above, and the crisp, cold air biting at my skin. I was more awake than I'd been that entire day, and yet it felt as if I was pushing through a void-like fog as I tripped across the field. I can't think of any other time when the world around me felt as surreal as it did then. It was a scene from a storybook; not real life.

𝘞𝘩𝘺, 𝘈𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴?

[Originally written as a short story for my creative writing class. It's a little on the confusing side, I think, but I'm fairly proud of how it came out :D]