It has no title

A Story by John

A short opening into a new joint story

“Where is mommy? Where is daddy? Why am I so alone?” That oh so familiar feeling. “Why did they all leave me alone? Was I so unimportant to them?” Falling deeper into this green and black space… I feel the old memories swelling up from my soul. My dreams are my punishment, more so hellish then this idiotic cell. It haunts my ever imaginative mind… All those children, once like me… The space around me begins to take a new mold. I’ve been here many a night, and everyday. I can hear the laughter, I can smell the fuses. The innocent breeze cautiously dances in the sunlight, gliding by all that is around. It plays with the children and advances towards me, but I ignore it. The Sun’s warmth silently slaughtered by the chilled air, as the clouds make a desperate rush to end the sun. Some snow starts to lightly fall, making the children radiate that same innocence as before. I tread slowly, savoring this beautiful day. It will not last for long.

They pile inside to escape this most playful enemy, only to return with their warm armor. Their weapon of choice in their war is the blanket of snow from above. The sky aids those kids with a reassuring gesture of more ammunition. I silently watch them and smile a warm smile. I move closer to this building a feel a sense of nostalgia, as bittersweet as it may be, I feel… home. I walk into the main office, pull out my knife, and watch his throat bleed. The brown floor runs red deep into the pale carpet a few feet away. I happily plant my charges and head out of the door. I love the winter smell, mixed with gunpowder and innocence. I make it out of the blast range when I hear the screams. Then they begin echoing around my ears, flooding my inner workings with the sounds of an angelic choir. It was so calming and peaceful. I turn around to see the building explode with such a passion that it would shun anyone who dared recreate it. This day was perfect. After I pick myself up from the blast, I gaze around at my work. Remnants of the orphanage scattered across the white depression. Smudges of black ruin the complexion, but the way the area bled was amazing. Nothing will ever be as captivating.

Oh how I love this dream! My most prized work, but most hated feeling. My favorite part was coming up, I readied myself for this most orgasmic retelling, when I awoke… Inside my decrepit cell I stare blankly.
“Get up ingrate!” said the prick of a guardsman. All of my nostalgia and happiness are gone. They left me alone in this reality, but only for a short while. I pray to God they will return to me tonight, I wish to play with them one more time.