Life Outside PLT1

In those eternal shadows I spy a girl, no older than 12 years and suspended in hues of black and grey and white. It doesn’t take long for my nightmare to confirm itself as mine; dropping to her knees, her stomach cuts itself open untouched between the flowing cloaked neck of a dark hood. If I hold my gaze I can witness the poor girl, bleeding to death: a crescendo to a twisted, nightmarish symphony in black and grey. When I look away and look back, she returns to normal and the sequence repeats itself. It was a switch to make my stomach crawl, a sight designed for myself only, which I couldn’t possibly tear myself away from permanently.

Nightmares are nightmares and nightmares are memories. Nightmares are nightmares are memories. The meaning to that sight I beheld in repetition was never known fully to me, except that when I had that vision in life; a person close to me died shortly after. Being now dead myself, it almost seemed appropriate to view that nightmare now; what person could possibly be as close to me as I am to myself?

Without a voice, I tried to yell…