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DreamworldIt's always the same dream.Dreamworld by WintersEdge476
Sometimes it has a different setting, but the main features are always the same. This time is no different. I move forwards slowly into the darkness, away from the front door. It slams shut loudly, sealed forever now. I strain my eyes against the darkness, frozen to hear the slightest sound. The silence seems to echo, pushing against my eardrums uncomfortably. The air hangs heavily around me, the feel of complete wrongness smothering me.
A skittering noise rattles across the floor above my head. My heart starts to pound.
The walls, once familiar, are dripping with damp, mould covering the surface. Despair overtakes me. I know how this ends.
I move into the darkness, making out the outlines of broken furniture, smashed in the midst of some great rage. An uncomfortable memory pushes at the back of my mind but I suppress it. Feelings surface, feelings of fear and entrapment and helplessness.
I walk into the remains of the living room. The family photos are dist
FragmentHurrying out into the street, Martin squinted into the bright glare of sunlight. He was still groggy from the effects of the sleeping pill from the night before, and had overslept; he was in a rush to get to work in time now. He stopped suddenly, fingers tightening around his cane.Fragment by WintersEdge476
The road, which normally would have been teeming with moving cars, was silent. The cars were there alright, but there were no people. He blinked.
Perhaps the pill had addled his wits.
He blinked again. The scene remained before him, eerily quiet, nothing moving except a few leaves still clinging to the skeletal trees. The cars had been recently abandoned; that much was clear. Some still had headlights left on; others had a door hanging open. They were parked haphazardly, indicating a hasty, perhaps panicked departure by their owners.
Martin limped forwards slowly, looking up and down the deserted street. A sense of foreboding settled upon him, and his skin prickled. He swung his head around sharply, feeling
Broken GlassIt's like I'm made of glass. Broken glass, because you destroyed me a long time ago. Each time I think I've managed to rebuild myself, and put up a cold impenetrable barrier, you smash into it and shatter my illusion of safety.Broken Glass by WintersEdge476
You knock me down again and again.
Each time you say it won't happen again, you say that you'll be different this time. But every time it's not you that's different, it's me. Each time I rebuild my glass barrier, it's me that freezes a little more inside, becoming more and more detached. And each time the shield gets obliterated the shards of glass get twisted further and further inside me. They burrow deep, cutting me open but I don't bleed. The blood stopped a long time ago. Instead the wounds burn, shredding me up inside.
On the outside, the glass appears shiny and bright, reflecting whatever the observer expects to see. The scars and wounds cannot be seen. No, they are hidden far inside, invisible to everyone else but you.
I hold my wrists out to you, the on
A Place Where I Grew UpA Place Where I Grew UpA Place Where I Grew Up by WintersEdge476
I am eleven years old.
I move slowly through the dark hall, pausing as a floorboard creaks. After a moment I continue forwards, to the foot of the stairs. Light spills down from the upstairs landing. Through the closed door of my brother's bedroom, I hear raised voices. Loud, angry words. There is a thud.
"Don't you dare hit me!" My Father. I can hear the hurt mingled with the anger.
"Stop!" My mother shrieks, fear and desperation ringing in her words. Her face is pink and tearstained, blue eyes bloodshot. It is the look she always wears when my brother becomes violent. I have become familiar with it over the past year.
"Just shut up! And get the hell out of my bedroom!" He snarls, and flings the bedroom door open. He is just sixteen years old, already as tall as my father. People often tell me I look like him, but seeing his face now, I can't see the resemblance: rage has distorted his features until he is almost unrecognisable.
I back away hurriedly, fading ba