Bars. Chains. Howling. Pain. Blood.
"You won't remember this."
Black curtains drawn. Nothingness.
It was the same every night. A flickering of images, distorted by the assortment of senses. Some felt too real to be a dream. While some were far too horrific that he sincerely hoped they weren't real. To wake in confusion, unknowing of what they were or what they meant. Covered in sweat, air torn away from his lungs by the crushing suffocation of fear.
What does this mean? What does any of this mean?
Years with no answers. Running from some invisible force that chased him like the rolling shadows of a tsunami. He still waited for the crashing impact, but it never came. It could be anyone, anything. He only hoped that whatever it was, it would never come. Not if those clips were in fact memories.
Those mornings, when the storms of fear passed and calmed the waters, he'd lay there. Tracing scars he had no memory of receiving. He'd feel the dull ache of some when the rough pads of his fingers ran over the sensitive tissue. The ones that were lifted from cuts made too deep, scars he doubted he'd ever lose.
Why?
More questions he never had answers to. If they were real, what did he do to deserve them? Did he deserve them? Was he a victim, or was it retaliation for some heinous act he'd committed? He'd had his fair share of blood on his calloused hands, aftermath of running from the Invisible.
Am I crazy?
A question he truly wished he had answers to. While some would say yes, a man running from nothing that he believed was something. Hiding, in a land where it wasn't necessary. Or... hadn't been.. necessary. The things he'd done to stay low. To survive. To move on. Maybe he was. Or maybe, the world was crazy.
What happens when the Invisible find me... if they're real?
Now, that. That was a question he wasn't so sure he wanted the answer to.
"You won't remember this."
Black curtains drawn. Nothingness.
It was the same every night. A flickering of images, distorted by the assortment of senses. Some felt too real to be a dream. While some were far too horrific that he sincerely hoped they weren't real. To wake in confusion, unknowing of what they were or what they meant. Covered in sweat, air torn away from his lungs by the crushing suffocation of fear.
What does this mean? What does any of this mean?
Years with no answers. Running from some invisible force that chased him like the rolling shadows of a tsunami. He still waited for the crashing impact, but it never came. It could be anyone, anything. He only hoped that whatever it was, it would never come. Not if those clips were in fact memories.
Those mornings, when the storms of fear passed and calmed the waters, he'd lay there. Tracing scars he had no memory of receiving. He'd feel the dull ache of some when the rough pads of his fingers ran over the sensitive tissue. The ones that were lifted from cuts made too deep, scars he doubted he'd ever lose.
Why?
More questions he never had answers to. If they were real, what did he do to deserve them? Did he deserve them? Was he a victim, or was it retaliation for some heinous act he'd committed? He'd had his fair share of blood on his calloused hands, aftermath of running from the Invisible.
Am I crazy?
A question he truly wished he had answers to. While some would say yes, a man running from nothing that he believed was something. Hiding, in a land where it wasn't necessary. Or... hadn't been.. necessary. The things he'd done to stay low. To survive. To move on. Maybe he was. Or maybe, the world was crazy.
What happens when the Invisible find me... if they're real?
Now, that. That was a question he wasn't so sure he wanted the answer to.