[No Title Yet] (NSW)

[Ary the Grey]

To be fair, I'm writing and posting this on two different sites just to get some feedback. I've always had a hankering for a plot I've wanted to do for some time, or at least a theme ((and I don't know where I'm going to take the plot)), and I've wrote half-stories in here in the past, and I hope this actually turns into a full fleshed out story. I could use suggestions of all types if you have them, but if you just enjoy it, thanks for reading.

 

 

He was falling. That was all he knew. The sky stretched above him, if he could call it sky...it was certainly big and blue, but as he fell it was as if he were immune to the noise and feeling of the wind rushing past him, and he felt intensely calm. It was as if he weren't really falling at all, though he knew the ground was rushing up beneath him, he could hear it in the back of his mind, it didn't worry him in the slightest. He even grinned slightly at the realization of this, that everyone else in this situation would be panicking, and yet he was perfectly calm, and that was mildly amusing.

 

It was as if he had forever to think, able to lazily wonder about useless things, quietly questioning to nobody or nothing in particular how long he had been falling, why he was falling, why any of this was even happening, but his mind kept churning out the same answer every time: it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He was at peace, he was in control.

 

It was right around then he lazily rolled over as he fell, staring at the Earth speeding up towards him, skyscrapers angrily spearing into the sky past him as the figures on the ground became larger and clearer. For some reason, his smile only spread wider, a knowing look of unspoken wisdom. And in spectacular finality, the ground reached up to meet him, and something in the back of his mind screamed at the impending impact, like a hot spike suddenly driven through his brain.

 

 

Eric woke with a start, his forehead glistening as his chest pounded violently, he could almost feel himself hitting the ground this time. Gingerly he threw the covers aside, throwing his legs over the side of his bed and breathing deeply. With effort in the dark, he fished out his inhaler from the nightstand drawer, flipping on the small lamp that rested on top of it and wincing as the light caught him off guard. Eventually he rose, heading to the bathroom, grimacing as he saw the clock next to his lamp. It read exactly 5:50 AM, ten minutes before it was set to go off.

 

The water he splashed on his face always helped to calm him down, its tangibility, its realness always reaffirming him that he was back in reality. This was somewhere near the twentieth time he'd had the dream, or so he thought, and every time it felt so real he wondered for a long time after waking up each day what was more real. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit he hated the dream, despised how real it felt, loathed its frequency...but under it all he knew if he admitted all that he'd merely open the door to frustration and the unnerving question on whether or not he really was crazy.

 

In the other room, he heard the alarm go off, and sighed heavily to himself. Time to start the day. Eric was never a morning person, at least not until about two months ago more or less when the dreams started, and starting out for an early day of work felt more like the green mile than it did anything else. He enjoyed leaving the workplace much more, as it meant coming back to his hobbies, but that all was just a light at the end of a very long tunnel, something he clung to every day.

 

With fake effort, he picked up his toothbrush and began to ready himself for the day, the loud droning of his alarm keeping him awake and reminding him of what he needed to do. He needed his job, he needed to fit into society's step, needed to conform just long enough to endure another day. March to the music, Eric. It's the only option you have until you become wealthier.

 

((to be continued when I decide to write more, this will be an on and off continuing project of mine))

[Ary the Grey]

Prologue, will finish and organize later --

 

 

 

”œDispatch, 92, 10-31 in progress, possible 10-39, I am in pursuit of suspect at this time, suspect young male mid twenties wearing red hooded sweater, incredibly hostile and possibly armed. Request immediate backup to 1418 Folsom Ave area.”

[Tiana Calthye]

Not bad! I do have some crits but I've had an awful few days and I've been too out of it to write them up. But it's not a half bad read. It all feels quite gritty and real.