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Snippet #928

located in Life, a part of Almost an Allegory, one of the many universes on RPG.


The container of experiences that a living creature goes through, whether asleep or awake.


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As sunset molds a chilling hallow from a peaceful glade, Sod’s environs decay to a midnight barricade bristling with garish pine spears. At the ready, they haphazardly lean from crumbling furrows and offset dusk in an insidious display of oozing red and slumping, pale flesh. Awareness slinks in, the now-realized scent of death intermingling with rotting barley flaring his nostrils and teasing his hackles to rigid spines trembling with cold and a warning. Lightning sears the monochrome image of hell on his soul, then abandons it to the black.

Yet he snorts, groundward gaze callous, sullen; the abrupt vicissitude sterile in his mind, despite his tense reaction. Yes, palpitations agonizingly batter his ribs; yes, sweat splatters frigidly beneath his arms; yes, his body absurdly disregards his commands and his throat ridiculously refuses to form a piteous wail of frustration—but his mind scoffs at the crudeness, the audacity of this manipulation! Then Sod’s frailty sponges away the passing moments with the tenderness of a rake, shredding the mice, the story, and this dreamy hell from his consciousness.

“Welcome to the graveyard; enjoy your stay?” taunts the unseen thunder, polluting innocence with a threat.

My eyes twitch, but don’t close. Darkness gathers depth, and objects, once imperceptible, come into bleary focus. My side aches, but it is just my weight on her gravestone. My gravestone.

Sitting up with a tired grunt, I squint at the night. Tearcrust distorts my vision, so I rub it away. It is no longer raining, but I can’t stop shivering and the water pooling on my lap from the creases of my jacket doesn’t help. Funereal monuments stand out from the night as stark reminders of my nightmare. This is a place of peace, of escape, of her, and I feel violated. Not like it would be the first time.

Thrusting the thought aside, I try to concentrate. With a sigh, I rub the back of my neck. The hairs are on end.

“Enjoy your stay?” hits my ears, and I drop to all fours with a yelp. In my periphery is a voyeuristic little punk with his arm draping a tomb. Before thinking, I furiously shout, “What the fuck kid? Why are you out here this time of night?”