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horrible dreams are not nightmares (13/01/2004)

        I stood there, in the way of sky tears. My hand firmly gripped the imaginary pistol inside my jacket as I stared at the gravestone of my past. Was it a funeral? It didn't seem like it since I was the only one there, standing on slippery ground of mud and wet grass, barely keeping balance. Pain was felt within the legs, and it would have been easier to just slip and lay next to the grave, maybe even join it.
        I should have died when I wasn't scared of living, or dying, or surviving. I didn't know much then. I didn't have the chance to know much then. Is that being ignorant, or innocent?
        "Hurry up, the rain is getting heavier."
        The car engine was heard off the distance behind the trees that couldn't find a path through the clouds. A soft voice touched my shoulder, and my grip loosened and whatever I was holding disappeared. As one foot left the ground, everything else quickly became grounded. Droplets of laughter soaked everything I wore, except for the jacket that didn't want to give in.

Options: [put it on the floor] [help] [exit]

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