Another story inspired by this sparker sentence:
- The lights blared out in a way that could make anyone blind in a way.
Existence
Panting…
…Breathing…
…Dying…
…I could feel my lungs rise up in me in a way that I thought would kill me. I was on the run, and I knew it. The Great Escape that had been the talk of the concentration camp just a few days ago didn't go as planned. Apparently one of them was an inside man/woman for the guards--a traitor, if you will. I knew that no one would forgive him or her for their act of treachery--but I knew that person had a side to the story.
I could feel the cold winter air rise up in my lungs. It was chilling my insides like a freezer in the dead of winter. Mix in the feelings of shock, nervousness, and fear--it was a potent poison that would've paralyzed me to a point where I'd be shot in the back. But no--that couldn't happen.
I was free. No one could take that away from me. Not even the threat of death.
I was deep in the forest, resting under the cool shades of the midnight. The trees were my only best friends--they would shelter me from the cold winter nights that I'd probably spend, waiting for the time when they would all be gone. I hoped for it everyday in that godforsaken camp. I would even dream of it.
Like nights ago, when I spent the night hungry and cold, when everyone was fighting over the measly dinner that was offered to us. I had dreamt so much that night, I didn't care if I was in a place of hell at that time. All I knew was--this was one of those rare moments of peace.
It took me away…
…Far away…
…To a place that would equal the garden of Eden…
…Where birds sing, grass is green, the sun is shining, laughter instead of crying, no sorrow and dying--a dreaming poet would be in euphoria…
…Where water tastes like milk and honey, where the air is like a sweet, sickly perfume when you breathe it in, where the grass felt like a million feathers under you when you lie on it…
…It was beautiful, yes--but it was all a dream.
But then--it gave me a spark of hope. It made me believe that somewhere on this planet, paradise must exist. But then again--it must exist somewhere outside this world--outside this universe--outside this life.
I then realized that if I wanted paradise--I'd have to do it.
I crept down the tree, rubbing my eyes, then started walking. Taking small steps. My heart started pounding again. It was a decision I would have to make in a heartbeat. It would cost me much, but I knew where it would all end.
So I walked. And ran. And sprinted.
Until I reached a wide meadow, where the trees backed away, revealing a huge plot of grass. The winter night gave this meadow life. It looked like something out of a painter's mind. But this time it had come out his mind and went straight to life. I stared at the moon, which shone brightly upon me--a sign that everything would be okay.
But then I heard their voices. Their cold, commanding voices. Behind me, the lights blared out in a way that could make anyone blind in a way. Their voices got louder, and seconds later, I felt a hard boot to the back of my head. I crashed to the ground, but it did not hurt. The grass--they felt like feathers under my face. It was just like in my dream.
One of them grabbed my hair and whispered to my ears, "Any last words, vermin?"
I breathed a deep one. Then I spoke--"I'm going home. And you're not."
He snickered so coldly, then drove my head back to the ground. Again, it did not hurt. But then, I felt the cold barrel of a gun. But it did not scare me. Not anymore. Not where I'm going.
A shot, then darkness…
…But then, light…
…Happiness…
…A perfect world…
…Somewhere, somehow, I knew it existed.