Song Storywriting...

stories from some of my songs.

Every night she dreams of a Prison hidden in the depths of her own mind; she cannot think of a way to escape, except to wake up. A night feels like an eternity; her struggle to escape the prison becomes harder and harder each night. Yet she had always woken up before. This night, she did not...

In this song, she spends her time in the prison, wondering when she'd wake up, until she meets a person in the prison. He seemed to be a prison guard, but his face was fair; not something you'd expect from a prison guard. It made her wonder if he really was what he told he was. He bent over, as if about to whisper something, but instead she heard a voice inside her head. "You will not wake up anymore." Paniced, she started clawing at the wall frantically.

 

She wouldn't wake up. She couldn't wake up. Something was pressing her, forcing her to stay in the dream, in that crushing prison.Then the  ground shook beneath her, the walls of that prison coming crashing down, and she fell down a distance that seemed to be several miles. Darkness, as she fell unconscious.

When she woke up from the unconsciousness she found herself in a large, lighted area. She had no idea what it was, but there was an open door right in front of her. She crawled towards it with her last strength; the light had to mean something. Hope swelled up in her in painful amounts, but she forced herself to go on. At last she peered out of the doorway, finally noticing where that light came from. She was high up in the sky; had she just imagined the drop? She could see the crashed ruins of the prison beneath her, but the place where she was simply...floated. Nothing held it there. She noticed in the dream that she could fly; she flew to places she had always imagined visiting to, but doubtful, she also visited places she knew. The new places were fresh, authentic-looking, but the places she knew were horribly twisted, horrifying, dead. Abruptly as she fell down; nothing held her in the air any longer, nothing seemed to give that commanding power to her thoughts anymore. It was as if something else had taken over in her dream, but she denied the possibility furiously. It couldn't be possible, not in her own dreams...

The twisted streets looked empty, but she could feel somebody's presence. Not exactly see, hear or taste it... simply feel. Abruptly images flashed across her eyes, across the streets. Killing, murdering, all done by herself. Her family, legs spread, glazed eyes staring at the nothingness. Screaming, she fell back, trying to get away, trying to wake up. It was all for naught. There was no way out.

She seized hold of herself, feeling something ripped off violently in the back of her head; these thoughts were evil, they had to be fought. Finally she felt in control again, but that something still lurked in her head, feeding her the stream of consciousness that never really felt her own. She wanted to fight back, but she couldn't keep the thought away from her head. Suddenly she noticed that her hand had raised slightly; she had not done that. Her other hand flew straight up in the air, just as abruptly, and panic took her again. She embraced the feeling of life that pulsed in her veins; it seemed to carry her away, to a different place altogether, and when she finally opened her eyes she noticed she was lying on something wet. Eyes bulging, she looked down; she couldn't have wet her bed?

As she shifted on her spot, peering at the blankets, she saw the crimson-coloured sprays of blood marring the white linen. Trying to catch for breath, she finally noticed the excruciating paing on her ribs, chest and stomach. Her head felt light, as if something had been removed from there, but she could only stare at the blankets now. Finally someone patted her on the shoulder, earning a paniced gasp from her; it was the man from the prison. He laughed lightly, but his voice wasn't so ominous anymore. It felt almost warm.

"You're going to be all fine from now on." She felt something stinging on her left arm, but just then sleep took her; she hadn't realized how tired she had been. And somehow, she didn't fear the dreams anymore.

 

Author's Note

Written a long time ago, however I think I made good use of language here and there although fixing is needed. Originally they're backstories and concepts for songs I've created using POM2.

Reviews

[Nienor Niniel]

Dreams often follow strange and disturbing paths, like in this story. Good job creating a realistically unrealistic dreamscape. c: I would suggest, if you have plans to make revisions, that you should add more details.