For He Was Still DreamingHush, Little Baby, Don't Say a Word, for There Never Was a MockingbirdFor He Was Still Dreaming by omgninjaspazz
What is a dream? Is it as childishly innocent as a crimson balloonflittering upwards in an uncontrolled waltz as it desperately searches for its home in the sky? Or is it a darker, more sinister institution of developed man? Could a dream be a child's plaything? Or is it a pair of blood-soaked hands grasping slick swirls of lies, false truths, and sickening realities? Maybe it doesn't stand on the polar ends of innocence and corruption. Perhaps a dream is stunningly contrasted silhouette, retreating swiftly into the autumn gold of sunset, never to be caught by the probing tendrils of the conscious mind. What if it's the softest of snowfall, a downy blanket of iridescent white, illuminating the shadowed forest that it holds captive? What if it's a shadow? A murky, unidentifiable monster rising from beneath the mattress, just as everyone always said it would. It could be a hill, rolling expanses sprink
EastwardIn the dimly lit room I can see a pearl of golden light resting on the dirty carpet. I pick up the memory of us.Eastward by undulate
This is the one I will keep. This is the only one I can afford to remember.
My fingers warm under the heat of the tiny memento. I close my hand around it, feeling the sting of the fire within. It burns too hot in my palm. I wrap it in a scrap of cloth and put it into my pocket. This one is sacred.
I walk out of the room and out of my old life. The fiery blanket of memories I no longer need drops to the floor as my feet touch new ground. Behind me, the shroud blazes like a nebula set aflame. Once renounce, a though can never returned and I've abandoned all but one. I have no choice but to move forward into the cold.
The light of the morning seems impossibly bright, but I'm standing in the sunshine of a new day.
Am I feeling remorse? Thousands of moments we
in my dreams began to creepThe birds haunt her dreams at night.in my dreams began to creep by koeltje
There are two, one for Miriam and one for Ruth, and they sing with the girls' voices. Beaks open: the children come out, piping at her as they did in life, preening at their feathers and moaning about their mother. They always look wet, their feathers bedraggled and dragging them down groundward.
They are such little chicks, as they were such little girls.
Tell me, children, she begs, little beaks pecking at her flesh and pulling out her hair, tell me, tell me, why are you doing thisbut she knows the answer. Besides, the birds never say.
She wakes up in the morning, each and every morning, with sweat beading on her face, in the crush of fabric at the small of her back. She gets up and looks into Leah's room, into the room with the three little beds. Leah sleeps sweetly in the center, long black hair tangled around her face.
Leah hasn't spoken to her since Miriam and Ruth went
If Only"If only there was another way," I thought, "then maybe I could've saved her...If only."If Only by SpaghettiMO
I had no idea what to do or where to go next. I never had to deal with something like this before. Should I go get help? Should I move on? What to do...I knew I couldn't just move on, this is my best friend we're talking about. I looked up at the rain clouds, hoping that they would somehow have the answer.
"I can't do this," I said to myself, "I should just end it all now, no one would care. My parents don't care about me anymore, my grandparents have all passed away, my aunts and uncles are all in different states and all of my friends are insensitive and uncaring. The only person I had was her, and now she's gone."
"But...If I killed myself...She wouldn't have wanted me to do that. She was always telling me how I was the nicest person she'd ever met; she always made the best out of times like this, which is why I wish I had her here to help me through this..."
I stated to hit my forehead to try a