HOME | DD

Description
The world is quiet, when you take a moment to listen. There is the murmur of people as they talk, and the purr of cars as they speed across the street, there are the screams of bickering adults or children in pain, but the world is quiet. That only matters to those who listen. In the cool morning air, thick with gray fog, however, the world was not quiet. Not today. Across the field I had walked, shivering with not only cold, but fear. There were voices, they were coming from everywhere. Nothing had happened, but everything was different. The trees shook, and I had the eerie feeling that it was not for the wind. The murky soil of the meadow was submissive beneath my feet, and I could feel the water seeping through to my bare toes, with the unconscious desire to turn them to ice. The sun was not yet in the air, it was hiding, hiding from the world which spoke and froze and misted. I could feel my heart, it was talking to the voices, beating in reply to their whispers. I looked around, expecting no one to be there, and being unsurprised by the reality. My heart raced faster, fast as a rabbit at the start of a chase. I felt like a rabbit, small and fragile, everything around me seemed beyond my comprehension. I didn't remember how I had gotten there. All I remember is how I woke up in the woods, and walked to the meadow on legs that weren't my own. I heard things I shouldn't hear, and it hasn't changed. Not yet. Far off, I heard the voice of a morning dove, not the song it sung, but the movement it made. The voice of all of its kind. I heard the grass move with the light breeze as the night exhaled its final breath, and the sun revealed its fiery light. My flesh tingled with the sensation of sunlight warming it, but there was a painful creeping up my spine, something that would rip and tear. I heard a noise coming from my own throat. A noise that scared me half to death. I had just howled the mournful sound of a dying dog.

Description
The world is quiet, when you take a moment to listen. There is the murmur of people as they talk, and the purr of cars as they speed across the street, there are the screams of bickering adults or children in pain, but the world is quiet. That only matters to those who listen. In the cool morning air, thick with gray fog, however, the world was not quiet. Not today. Across the field I had walked, shivering with not only cold, but fear. There were voices, they were coming from everywhere. Nothing had happened, but everything was different. The trees shook, and I had the eerie feeling that it was not for the wind. The murky soil of the meadow was submissive beneath my feet, and I could feel the water seeping through to my bare toes, with the unconscious desire to turn them to ice. The sun was not yet in the air, it was hiding, hiding from the world which spoke and froze and misted. I could feel my heart, it was talking to the voices, beating in reply to their whispers. I looked around, expecting no one to be there, and being unsurprised by the reality. My heart raced faster, fast as a rabbit at the start of a chase. I felt like a rabbit, small and fragile, everything around me seemed beyond my comprehension. I didn't remember how I had gotten there. All I remember is how I woke up in the woods, and walked to the meadow on legs that weren't my own. I heard things I shouldn't hear, and it hasn't changed. Not yet. Far off, I heard the voice of a morning dove, not the song it sung, but the movement it made. The voice of all of its kind. I heard the grass move with the light breeze as the night exhaled its final breath, and the sun revealed its fiery light. My flesh tingled with the sensation of sunlight warming it, but there was a painful creeping up my spine, something that would rip and tear. I heard a noise coming from my own throat. A noise that scared me half to death. I had just howled the mournful sound of a dying dog.