Anonymous Writer 378
Bio
may whatever has bound you to reality disappear, art is pure in its every inevitable form.
enjoy my thoughts
Stories (7)
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Your story, before you've written it
It’s darker than the midnight sky, colder than an Antarctic iceberg on a winter's night. I can feel the wind rushing past my face as I leap through the forest, step by step my feet facing each other. I am running for my life. Attempting to be as elusive as possible, I find a ditch. My heart beating so fast it’s almost as if I’ve come into an obscure amount of palpitations… I need to get out of here painting as softly as I can. Why did this happen? How did I get into this situation… I think to myself. I hear the growling of animals moving swiftly through the forest. It sounds like they’re closing in. Slowly attempting to surprise me their prey unannounced but I see them.. every single one. They leap at me ferociously, am I going to die here?
By Anonymous Writer 3785 years ago in Futurism
