*IMPORTANT*
I WANT EVERYONE WHO SEES THIS THREAD TO TRY AND THINK OF SOMEONE WHO THEY MET ONCE ON EW, WHO DOESN'T PLAY HERE ANYMORE. STATE THEIR NAME AND A LITTLE BIT ABOUT THEM. LETS REMEMBER THOSE WHO LEFT US, WHO 'WOKE UP'
Holy crap the idea for this one was just out of nowhere, mainly inspired by the minecraft credits
So basically imagine if all of us playing video games together was like a dream, and all dreams have to end....
I wrote this whilst listening to 'Into The West' while failing to sleep. I'm pretty sure if you listened to that it would make the story a bit better
The dream is long and deep. Many people enter it's bright abyss through time, until slowly they drift up, and out of the dream. They wake up. Inside the dream, everyone knows someone from somewhere, but they don't quite know where. Names change, faces change, people change, and when they leave, they're never the same. In the dream people fight, against something ancient and evil, or at least, we think it's those things, or maybe we just dreamed it?
The field is draped in a blanket of thick white fog. The grass is tall and some of the blades end in wheat or barley. Bushels of thorns dot the landscape. I can't see the end of the field, the fog obscures it. My long trench coat flaps around my feet, brushing the grass, the end gradually getting damper as it soaks up the morning due. As I walk through the field, the forest reveals itself at the end of the field. Trees wrapped in ivy stand like silent sentinels to the passing of time. They have seen more then any people in the dream, they know all the faces and all the hopes, all lost now.
I walk like this until I meet the evil. It isn't dark, or shadowy, or demonic. It's a boy, the same height as me, with short black hair, and bright green eyes. He wears a red shirt, and black trousers. I have a sword in my hand now. No-one knows where the weapons come from in the dream, but when they appear we know it is time to fight. The boy also has a sword in his hand, and runs at me. Moving like the breeze and twirling the blade like crashing waves on the see, I run to meet him. I swing my sword down across the boy's chest, and with a couple of swings, he drifts away into silken cloud. More evil's approach. They all look vaguely similar, but one had very distinct features. Short, dark blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and a face used to laughter. He is also reduced to soft, fabric-like cloud that drifts away to nothing.
Everyone sees the evils differently, but we all recognise that they are evil, and must be destroyed where they are found. As I walk through through the wood, the fog parts like curtains, revealing an old building. The plaque above the door is wreathed in ivy, but in tearing it away I see it reads: 'School for Boys, age-' The sign is old and rotted, and much of the text is missing. Inside there are long corridors, but these are lit by windows. The carpet is thin, but remarkably new in comparison to the rest of the building. One evil rests at the end of the corridor, waiting for me. This one has no distinct features. It's face blurs and melds before I can get a grip on it.
It lifts it's blade and brings it down, and I can't stop it. The sword sinks deep into my flesh, and wisps of silk drift from the wound. I fall, slowly to the carpeted ground. I can hear people speaking, friends, I think. The things they say don't make them sound like friends. Twisted things, malignant things that no ears should hear. Suddenly, I look up, and the evil has his hand outstretched. It takes my hand and lifts me up, it's face begins to settle. It's hair is brown or black, and reaches down to stroke the top of his eyebrows. His eyes are a pale green, and are deep and timeless as the abyss of the dream. His face is long, and hairless. As he lifts me, we walk together. We leave the building, and climb a hill further into the woods. As we climb the hill lengthens, into a mountaintop, with a cloud created peak.
It's then that I see, the dream is just a dream. It comes to an end, and there is more beyond it. All I have to do, is wake up. I walk, almost drift to the top of the mountain, the evil follows me all the way, and as I reach the peak, I turn to see him one last time. He is no longer an evil. He never was, just part of me I didn't want to acknowledge. But all in all, it is the most important part of me. I hear noises, battles and cries, people shouting, names, friends, brothers, fellows. The game has been fun friends. Full of heroism, beauty, and the most wonderful characters. The horizon lifts, the silk streams from my wound, carrying me wit it. The boy takes my body, and carries it down, and I know the dream is over, it's time to wake up.
We all fight in the dream, against things we don't how to fight. We held fortresses against nameless hoards, stormed keeps of twisted horrors. But deep down, everyone's fighting different things, trying to deny their part of you. It's time to leave the dream now. It's time to wake up. Wake up.
WELL HLOY SH*T.
So I think at one point in that story I cried a little bit, but that's because I'm slightly unstable, so the story is probably quite unstable too. I wanted this to be something more than a story, something to make you think, something that meant more than a funny or entertaining story.
I WANT EVERYONE WHO SEES THIS THREAD TO TRY AND THINK OF SOMEONE WHO THEY MET ONCE ON EW, WHO DOESN'T PLAY HERE ANYMORE. STATE THEIR NAME AND A LITTLE BIT ABOUT THEM. LETS REMEMBER THOSE WHO LEFT US, WHO 'WOKE UP'
Holy crap the idea for this one was just out of nowhere, mainly inspired by the minecraft credits
So basically imagine if all of us playing video games together was like a dream, and all dreams have to end....
I wrote this whilst listening to 'Into The West' while failing to sleep. I'm pretty sure if you listened to that it would make the story a bit better
The dream is long and deep. Many people enter it's bright abyss through time, until slowly they drift up, and out of the dream. They wake up. Inside the dream, everyone knows someone from somewhere, but they don't quite know where. Names change, faces change, people change, and when they leave, they're never the same. In the dream people fight, against something ancient and evil, or at least, we think it's those things, or maybe we just dreamed it?
The field is draped in a blanket of thick white fog. The grass is tall and some of the blades end in wheat or barley. Bushels of thorns dot the landscape. I can't see the end of the field, the fog obscures it. My long trench coat flaps around my feet, brushing the grass, the end gradually getting damper as it soaks up the morning due. As I walk through the field, the forest reveals itself at the end of the field. Trees wrapped in ivy stand like silent sentinels to the passing of time. They have seen more then any people in the dream, they know all the faces and all the hopes, all lost now.
I walk like this until I meet the evil. It isn't dark, or shadowy, or demonic. It's a boy, the same height as me, with short black hair, and bright green eyes. He wears a red shirt, and black trousers. I have a sword in my hand now. No-one knows where the weapons come from in the dream, but when they appear we know it is time to fight. The boy also has a sword in his hand, and runs at me. Moving like the breeze and twirling the blade like crashing waves on the see, I run to meet him. I swing my sword down across the boy's chest, and with a couple of swings, he drifts away into silken cloud. More evil's approach. They all look vaguely similar, but one had very distinct features. Short, dark blonde hair, striking blue eyes, and a face used to laughter. He is also reduced to soft, fabric-like cloud that drifts away to nothing.
Everyone sees the evils differently, but we all recognise that they are evil, and must be destroyed where they are found. As I walk through through the wood, the fog parts like curtains, revealing an old building. The plaque above the door is wreathed in ivy, but in tearing it away I see it reads: 'School for Boys, age-' The sign is old and rotted, and much of the text is missing. Inside there are long corridors, but these are lit by windows. The carpet is thin, but remarkably new in comparison to the rest of the building. One evil rests at the end of the corridor, waiting for me. This one has no distinct features. It's face blurs and melds before I can get a grip on it.
It lifts it's blade and brings it down, and I can't stop it. The sword sinks deep into my flesh, and wisps of silk drift from the wound. I fall, slowly to the carpeted ground. I can hear people speaking, friends, I think. The things they say don't make them sound like friends. Twisted things, malignant things that no ears should hear. Suddenly, I look up, and the evil has his hand outstretched. It takes my hand and lifts me up, it's face begins to settle. It's hair is brown or black, and reaches down to stroke the top of his eyebrows. His eyes are a pale green, and are deep and timeless as the abyss of the dream. His face is long, and hairless. As he lifts me, we walk together. We leave the building, and climb a hill further into the woods. As we climb the hill lengthens, into a mountaintop, with a cloud created peak.
It's then that I see, the dream is just a dream. It comes to an end, and there is more beyond it. All I have to do, is wake up. I walk, almost drift to the top of the mountain, the evil follows me all the way, and as I reach the peak, I turn to see him one last time. He is no longer an evil. He never was, just part of me I didn't want to acknowledge. But all in all, it is the most important part of me. I hear noises, battles and cries, people shouting, names, friends, brothers, fellows. The game has been fun friends. Full of heroism, beauty, and the most wonderful characters. The horizon lifts, the silk streams from my wound, carrying me wit it. The boy takes my body, and carries it down, and I know the dream is over, it's time to wake up.
We all fight in the dream, against things we don't how to fight. We held fortresses against nameless hoards, stormed keeps of twisted horrors. But deep down, everyone's fighting different things, trying to deny their part of you. It's time to leave the dream now. It's time to wake up. Wake up.
WELL HLOY SH*T.
So I think at one point in that story I cried a little bit, but that's because I'm slightly unstable, so the story is probably quite unstable too. I wanted this to be something more than a story, something to make you think, something that meant more than a funny or entertaining story.
he is just hard to catch and doesn't play as much as he used to
