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Story
2012
unknownj
Not wishing to be outdone by David, I may as well post some crap of my own, written after many hours of not sleeping (hence craziness :o). This isn't the final one - I sent it to Bri and Kara for criticism, they gave me some, I changed it a bit, and rewrote it. But I can't find that one :o)


The Morning

Dark, but beyond black. Quiet, but beyond silence. For this is sleep, and things are not bound by the same rules that keep reality sensible and neat. Blackness is just being without light, and silence the absence of sound. But this is sleep, where light and sound are balanced out by their opposites - on the other side of consciousness. Perhaps these are what dreams and imagination are made from. But back on the real side, the waking side, there is a sleeper.

The silent sleeper goes about his silent duty in silence. You get the picture, right? Anyway, the sleeper never stirs, never wakes, is dead to the world which he would call his. He is alone, and although this fact is a source of pain, it allows the mind to wander the landscape of eternity, without thought nor feeling. For our sleeper is far from reality now.

Outisde - darkness. The black landscape crisply contrasting the pale blue sky with its red edged clouds. It is dawn - between the light and the dark. For a while the horizon offers a choice - the night of the ground, or the day that has already infiltrated the sky. Then, with a single shard of sunlight through a distant valley, the choice is made and the day has begun.

Our sleeper stirs. As nature unfurls her arms and stretches, the whole world comes to life. The songs of winged creatures penetrate the anti-sound of sleep, and our sleeper opens his eyes. Caught between reality and dreaming, there is no sense of identity, no awareness of the world. Just the conflict between the two realities. And who is to say which one we truly inhabit?

Our hero is now awake, and self awareness begins to shape his thoughts. The light, the surroundings, the idea of self, all trying to become the dominant thought. However, in front of self awareness comes emotion. How can the material world expect any sort of priority over love, hate, pure feeling?

There is no thought of light, nor the room, nor of our hero. There is just the thought of her (or the shadow she casts)...



There we go... :o)

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not quite as lovely as david's stuff =P

But it's not meant to be lovely. Or deep. It's just meant to be.

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