twenty eight
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↳ crimson nystolgia ↲
SOMETHING CALLED OUT. I couldn't understand it in the begging. I barely even recognized it to be a voice at all until it sounded a second time through my consciousness."Get up!" They commanded, shaking me.
As they continued to call, the sounds became submerged again, the hold they had on me loosening. Silence had taken back what it had rightfully claimed by then, leaving nothing at all in its place once more. Nothing, but that dimly glowing light that had been appealing to my eyes, intriguing me evermore.
In this dark I resided within, It illuminated the place. I shielded my eyes as it grew closer, buzzing, almost as if it were a vintage lightbulb soon to burst. The light it brought was warm. I extended an arm at it, the heat spreading through me like fire against gasoline.
"Wake up!"
Unleashing all at once, I was surrounded in the matter. I shielded a hand across my face, faltering backwards after being stunned with the light. The initial jolt brought me downwards, a lurch aching through me as I hit ground.
When opening my eyes again, I discovered this not to be solid floor like I'd once suspected, but a bed. Soft, plush. Comfortable.
I wanted to die here rather than anywhere. If death was what this was.
"Please." A voice sobbed, belonging to someone different than the last. It was unrecognizable.
I sat myself up, adjusting to the new scenery. I was in a room, painted a bizarre yellow color. It was decorated in beach themed paintings, and small trinkets like conch shells, sand dollars, and dried starfish skeletons.
Humanity; it reminded me of. Simpler times.
"Dad, wake up!"
The voice was here again, echoing through the walls. Out of an attempt to ignore it, it only drove me closer towards the point of insanity, resulting in my departure into the hall. At the set of stairs I'd eventually come across, I took them quickly, stopping abruptly on the last plank.
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𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 | 𝘤. 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴
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