Run Felicia, run! - creative writing.

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Dystopia

“Run Felicia, run!” cried the voice.

I blinked at the darkness. The uncomfortable, stuble darkness surrounded me. Marking my every movement. I could almost feel the texture of the shadows looming over me. I had nearly given into the dark embrace, luring me ever so tauntingly, when I felt the dangerous pour of power stretching towards me. The feelings of constraint and helplessness trapped my mind, my body unable to move due to the fear enticing any strength to fight for any of my freedom from the demon's diseased frabrication.

I shivered slightly and fought back the tears bleeding from my eyes. I knew it would hurt if I cried. I would open my already derelict lips and most likely scream in the voices of despair when I see the tears I cried were blood, and or perhaps when I tasted the sticky, metallic liquid on my tongue.

I knew not to show my fear to this fantasy; but it was too hard not to;

I knew not whether this was real; but it felt real... and dangerous;

I knew not whether I was blinded by the phantasm that I felt this was the reality of the crude world;

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... or was I simply too tired to expel myself from this mental disorientation? But I knew I had to.

“Run Felicia, run!” the voice cried once again.

I ignored it.

Even if I had wanted to run, I couldn't. There simply wasn't enough strength in my body or mind to lead myself away from the seductive lure of It.

Stationed by the raw intensity It portrayed,  all I wanted to do was to fade away. Couldn't I simply fall into the abyss of forever shadows and slowly die? Sink away? Perish? No one would care if I left.

It was ...

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