Every night I have a dream where I'm falling. Falling through scribbled clouds and hills. My stomach churns and jolts in my sleep; though I'm unconscious I know that this is dangerous. As I drop so quickly and with so much pressure near the soft curly grass, everything, for one second, seems perfect. I know in that dream, that I will die. Everything is so peaceful, though, and I feel in my summer-saulting stomach that I never want that moment to end. That I would die still feeling like that, and hopefully I could feel that exhilarated, frightened and immortal, but soothed for all eternity. Almost everything is perfect. One thing is just a little off, and I always wake up not knowing, wondering what. Something in that dream is always a little creepy, or too perfect that its not right. Wrong. And then the moment of serenity and exhilaration turns into a moment of wanting to stop and go back to the real world, instead of this so-right-its-wrong world. The crayon scribbles around me, suffocating me in pink ribbons of uncomfort. The dream is abruptly turned into a nightmare. Crayola blood races down my neck and I feel the pink ribbon grow tighter around me, squeezing me like a cobra.
Only one thing remains the same until I wake: I know I am going to die.
...
Sometimes during the day when everything seems so perfect, I feel as though I'm falling.
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MOI
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