The Dreamers (Editing)

The Dreamers (Editing)

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WpMetadataReadConcluida mar, may 16, 20174h 55m
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Ciencia Ficción
I couldn't stop trembling even more now. I calmed down a little more and checked my arm again. I was correct, I wasn't hallucinating. On my shoulder was a tattoo. It was a character of some sort-- in a different language. It looked like it was Chinese mixed with Islamic calligraphy. The skin around my arm was red and irritated. The symbol stuck out like a vein. I hyperventilated. I thought I was going to have a panic attack. I had to sit there, on my bed, and command myself to calm down. "I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. This isn't real," I whispered. I checked the mirror again and searched all over my body to see if I had any other markings, but so far this was the only one. I shut my eyes, trying to force myself to wake up, but this was real. And for the first time, out of all the panicking, my vision went black.
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[Currently discontinued] I lost everything before I even knew how to live. Orphaned, cast into the care of relatives who never wanted me, I learned early that the world doesn't notice when you disappear. To everyone around me, I am quiet, polite, fragile. I stay in the corners. I smile when I must. People say I'm sweet, obedient, unassuming - perhaps they are right. Perhaps they don't see the ways I watch, the choices I make in silence. I move carefully. I observe. I wait. Some doors, once opened, are better left undiscovered. They called me a tragedy. Perhaps they were right - or perhaps they never truly understood. [currently editing and uploading when suitable]

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