Shhiiiiiitt.
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:31pm
Thread Topic: Shhiiiiiitt.
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Two days ago, I had a rather heart-felt dream. A small girl around the age of 9-12 near the Victorian Era was digging in a small area not too far away from her home. What she was looking for was any-thing that could cure her new-found poverty, as she and her family were working-class before the economy had completely relapsed. Fighting with severe depression since she was born, her depression had become dangerously Chronic. With a small shovel, she kept digging, and digging, and digging.
Until she found a rather large, strange book. Picking it up from the loose dirt she examined it. She didn't know what it was at all, other than that it was a fancy-looking book with strange rune-like markings on it and it was framed in gold and plated in bronze. Leaving the dig-site, she went back home to ask her mother and father about this find. The dream time-lapsed and I found her talking to her parents.
When her mother seen the book, her eyes went wide and speech-less. When her father left his usual fixed position off the cloth couch to investigate, his eyes went equally wide, but not for the same reasons. They screamed and hollered and hugged each other and cried, but the girl was utterly confused.
The mother knew this was an ancient Roman book, I don't know what it was to contain, but I know the father knew it would sell in for enough coins to last them an entire year.
Even though this was a great find, the girl couldn't help but frown. She didn't know why, but she simply didn't feel well. (She never knew she had depression.) Over the course of the next several months, she had found she had hit a gold mine for Roman incentives. She had already found what would equal 10M U.S. dollars. ($10,000,000) But on the final night of her life, she was extremely cold, despite the heater in her room.
She woke up to find a ghost laying next to her in bed. Despite the fact that this should frighten her, her depression had made it where she couldn't care less. The ghost was a woman, with a wreath on her head and elegant, yet partially torn robes that seemed of silk and rich gem-stones embedded in it, and as rings. She spoke with a surprisingly smooth tone.
"This is hurting my family. My entire family. Can you please, please stop? We've suffered... We've suffered and we can't handle it much longer..." The ghost said, clutching her heart and tears visibly pouring from her eyes. The girl remembered. Her 'company' of sorts had dug up a large number of skeletons, and many also had precious gem-stones, and were arranged to be up in display for how-ever long.
And then she remembered a certain skeleton. It was actually mummified, and her robes were silken and very well kept, despite a few tears. She had a wreath embedded in her head, green with flecks of yellow and red. Her fingers were encrusted with rings of extreme value. Looking back at the ghost, it was obvious. They were the same. And for the first time in a long while...
She cried.
Deeply, she cried. She cried for hours, and she even pleaded for her parents, or dead siblings, or some-one to come comfort her. None did. The dream, again, relapsed and I found her in a bath-room, a very pompous one. In her hand... Was a hand-gun. A small, plated hand-gun. Looking in the framed mirror, she gripped the hand-gun and held it up-side in her mouth.
With a straight face, she put her finger on the trigger. This was it. She tensed her finger, and every-thing went... Black. And then red. Then orange. Then yellow. And now... Finally... White. A mirror appeared before her imagination, and the resemblance to the mirror before was uncanny. She was in it. Along with the full body of a beautiful Roman queen. Leaning to the girl's ear, she whispered --
"Thank you." -
I had a dream where on christmas trees there were words instead of ornaments and one common word was "homo" and balding racists went around removing these signs.
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My dream is far superior.
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(Critique? On it as a short story, not a dream.)
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