He wakes up. Where is he? This isn’t right. You need to get back.
The book. He needs the book. It is his way out, his key. Its filled with his tears, his dreams, his ramblings,his logic… He needs it.
“Why?” A voice answers to the silence surrounding him. Is he insane? Has he finally lost it, not even able to recognize his own voice?
“Why do you even bother writing? The world is not ready.”
But the world is ready! He thinks to himself. The world was ready!
“And then you were here. Why do you think you came here, toa?”
A horrid figure steps from the darkness, its body seething with disgusting fluids, as flowers and tendrils grew from every part of its body.
“Knowledge without wisdom leads to self-destruction.” The figure speaks.
He screams in terror at the creature, before shouting in anger-
“You condemned me! You condemned me to this awful place!” He cries.
“You had always condemned yourself, toa. You called yourself a hero, but all you were was a soldier. Pathetic. But, perhaps, you could never be anything more.
Maybe that’s my fault. But that will change.”
He felt the tendrils reaching him, ripping through his veins, becoming part of him- no, becoming him.
He awakes once more, in a bloody battlefield, but with no occupants.
But that doesn’t matter. The book matters-“Where is my book?” He thinks to himself. “Its in my head.” He tears into his head, searching for the book, only to find, a seed. A seed? He realizes whats happening, but its too late to stop it. The seed blooms, the plant consuming his mind, his body, everything… as the figure looks on.
“And no one will have to remember you.”
8 Likes
get out of my flower box
5 Likes
But your petunias are so delicous…
3 Likes
ooh this story is suitably ominous. Nice job.
1 Like
Nice work, really enjoy your writing style
1 Like
…
this is good
1 Like