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literature
A Christmas Massacre
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Literature Text
Heavy breathing fills the air.
I pant. Light peaceful Christmas music fills the atmosphere.
Where am I? Who am I? Is this a dream?
If so, why can't I awaken? Where are my shoes?
Why is there blood on my hands?
Brief yelling is heard from behind.
I turn. No one is there.
A blood trail glows. I follow.
I can fill my heartbeat pound throughout my chest,
as if it was merely trying to escape.
But from what? What's happening?
What am I doing? Is this a dream?
I feel like lucid. So, unreal.
As if I'm no longer in control of my own body.
What is this? Why am I holding a gun.
I stop. I try to think cordially, but I can't.
What is wrong with me? Where am I?
Is this a dream? Am I sleeping?
I feel a sharp pain illuminate throughout my body.
I've seemed to have stepped on a shard of glass.
Um? It's not a normal piece of glass either.
It's from a pair of glasses, but whom?
I turn. More yells from a distance is heard.
It seems as if I'm floating. Drifting away into the further.
"Stop!" "Stay back!" "Please, stop!"
I'm not sure if these are my own thoughts,
or if I'm maybe perhaps dreaming them.
Maybe I'm going insane. Maybe I've lost my mind.
I turn the corner. There's blood. A lot.
Alongside the blood are countless piles of bodies.
....Where am I? Who am I? Is this a Dream?
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