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The bed sheet is covered in sweat. My mouth is dry like a desert. My brain thuds like a heartbeat but instead of spreading blood it spreads pain. I sludge out of my bed and feel the cold ground between my toes. I look out of the window, the city looks like a sandcastle stepped on by kids. not a living thing is in site, my blood shot eyes spread tears.  I clench my fist looking at the red spots on my knuckles against the pale skin. "uh, realistic to". I smile like a maniac and punch the wall beside me, it smashes like glass and displays a beautiful array of dry paint... it hurt.


this is not real, its fake, when i wake up i will be back home.

I take other step feeling the smooth water like tiles. i slump to the floor, the world spins around me and the dirty colours of  the sky fill the air. 


The dry chestnut trees cover the ground and the dust of the gravel swims around me. I hold the diary in my hands turn the pages over like its a museum treasure. the words scream in my head from the pages below. I found it on the ground in my bed. It found me, It knows me, it is me, i am it. I hate the way those words roll of the tongue and how they are like old friends. anger swells inside me, i was not always like this, i used to be just like everyone else now i only feel pain and anger, well that's may be a bit of an exaggeration . i still feel happy, just at the strangest things. 


i  just wish i knew what was happening, what they do to me?

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