Writing Prompt Give me a dreamlike and/or surreal passage you wrote.

ElijahRyne

A Hermit that is NOT that Lazy…
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Here is mine:
I always found it strange that the blue sky could obscure the ground above us during the day. There was about two hours before the light fades. I looked up at the sky squinting trying to see the continent above me. I floated as high as I could. It was impossible for me to reach the point where everything flips, but that didn’t stop me from trying. The atmosphere became thicker to the point it felt like I was swimming.

It became difficult for me to breathe so I stopped and looked around. The thick blue atmosphere shimmered and rippled as the daylight danced through it.
 

TheMonotonePuppet

A Writer With Enthusiasm & A Jester of Christmas!
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Here is mine:
I always found it strange that the blue sky could obscure the ground above us during the day. There was about two hours before the light fades. I looked up at the sky squinting trying to see the continent above me. I floated as high as I could. It was impossible for me to reach the point where everything flips, but that didn’t stop me from trying. The atmosphere became thicker to the point it felt like I was swimming.

It became difficult for me to breathe so I stopped and looked around. The thick blue atmosphere shimmered and rippled as the daylight danced through it.
Pick literally anything from "TMP1-The Red Marionette" for your viewing pleasure. I submit wherever your eyes land on. https://www.scribblehub.com/series/878240/tmpthe-red-marionette/
 

ElijahRyne

A Hermit that is NOT that Lazy…
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TotallyHuman

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Darkness was invading my mind.

It was a surreal experience. Reality melted and began dripping away into dreams.

Forms, shapes, ideas and sensations became vague and everything became unrecognizable from the slushy melting mush my perception became.

I was being broken down into atomic units and slipping away into nothingness like sand in a desert while what was left of my mind was being trapped in an infinite loop of being half a coherent thought away from finishing a single judgment of the situation.

My emotions were crawling over the corpse of my dead mind like ants, scavenging the last moments I experienced and crawling away into the abyss.

I was them and they were me and we were tearing our rotting corpse apart and feasting on it in order to breed more disgusting demons to tear away at us.

I never knew I could have too much of myself. Somebody, please take this ugly thing away, it drives me mad.

Why is only me here? Me, me, me, me and nothing more. Just emptiness. Void and void and void and me and void.

Too much me and too much emptiness.

The emptiness was vast, much greater than me, much greater than the small world that could fit inside me but it was something I became intimately familiar during my stay in it.

Or was it its stay in me? Was it me? Was I it? Was it not me? Was it me and not me? Was it? Was I?

I didn’t know and didn’t dare to know. I didn’t dare to dare to know.

Nothingness could be stretched and molded and shaped as one saw fit and so was I stretched and molded and shaped as something saw fit while nothingness I were.

And then I woke up.
Why was my throat hurting suddenly? Oh. I shouted.

Shouted? With my mouth. Though I usually spoke to him in my mind. Like, with my thoughts. Like, without stressing my throat. Like, - who was I trying to talk to just now?

Why am I feeling so confused?

I don’t know who I should call but I will try again. Maybe it’s not a who but a what. What’s the difference again?

Maybe I should call him with my thoughts… I may understand what is going on if he answers. Whoever or whatever it or they are.

I can’t? I can’t speak with my thoughts all of a sudden. I don’t remember how to use those things… Thoughts.

How do you use thoughts? You use them to think, but how? You use them to think, right? Yeah, yeah, I think this should be right. Right? Yeah.

How have I been thinking so far? I can’t recall, I can’t observe my own thinking process.

Am I speaking in my mind right now? I can’t understand.

Alright, concentrate. Calm breaths

“Haaaaa… Haaaaa...”, okay, no calm breaths. Wild and panicked breaths it is. Oh! I just realized how

I can keep track of what my body is doing. And that I’m thinking.

Have I gone insane at last? Was Ralph right to have warned me not to rely on my skills too much?

Who’s Ralph? What are skills? Or who are Ralph and what is skills?

Maybe it’s a person. My Skills. I must be not very close to them. Him, her, it. Since I’m calling them by their last name. Or maybe My-san is Japanese. Then we must be pals.

No, I must be slightly insane. Maybe it was some mistake of my concerning My-san? Mr/Ms My? Our Lord and savior My Skills.

I see. I don’t feel regret though. Or, more accurately, I can’t observe myself feeling regret while I may feel it unknowingly to myself.

What was I doing? I was trying to contact Ralph – whatever or however or whoever Ralph be. Maybe it’s a verb?

I’ve been Ralphing for a while now. No, doesn’t feel like it. Ralph is definitely an object not a state or action.

Right… How do I… Something like… this?

Yes, yes, you speak inside your mind like this:

#Q#E(@!~~~~~~~~~~~~@EQ@##RG2**#+POMEGRANATE+””TEWR#!#R#$&????????#@!R?#@??????#!`””!@!$!$!$$$!#4’’’

“” “” “” “” “” “”” “”””” “”””””” “”””””””””
“\\\\

\\\\

\\\\”








I think I melted down a little.
 

TheEldritchGod

A Cloud Of Pure Spite And Eyes
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And Now a word from our sponsor



A child at school.

He is different.

The others wait until the watchers are distracted.

They surround him.

They prey upon his fears.

They melt way with the return of the watcher.

He speaks of his tormentors.

The watcher turns a blind eye.

He is punished.

He suffers in silence.

He weeps into his pillow.

He talks to his mirror.

He carries with him emptiness.

He does not know peace.

He never forms a meaningful connection.

He revels in the suffering of others.

It is the only sense of control he will ever know…



Until Now!



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Syringe

Bluetooth 7 Enabled Holy Blade w/ Red Dot Sight
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Snippet from a chapter because it'd be too long.

Machinations of war haunted Frost.

Aberrations of death and conflict appeared in the bloodied reflections. No matter where he looked in his crimson purgatory there was always someone silently screaming at him, bleeding tears, and pleading for their lives to be spared.

They should have been silent. Frost could hear them. The phantom wails of misery were more real than the nightmare he was trapped in.

They were the victims of the flames. Both in the past and present. The many discarded lives sought to guilt him as he kept his gaze levelled with the endless horizon. Looking down only showed the female version of himself, following like a spectre. That form he grown so comfortable in seemed so lost compared to him. Frost was too focused on finding a way out. A reason for this madness, whereas his reflection was more concerned about the bodies.

Frost didn’t think much of it. Rather, he’d be lying if he said that out loud. It was as though his present self was aware of what she had done. The Frost now, wearing the skin of the old, still hadn’t a clue of what his sins truly were.

Aside from burning our city.

“This is getting me nowhere. Shit… please just stop talking to me.” Frost muttered, half expecting Nav to speak to him as he casted a glance to the left and right, hoping to catch a glimmer of golden eyes and strands of white hair.

The memory felt something like Ber’s state of mind. A primordial part of Frost that caused him to feel more like a stranger in someone’s world than his own. But he knew this was his. Later on, following an arbitrary direction for what felt like days on end, he found small monuments sticking out from the shallow sea.

Each step caused calm ripples to endlessly expand. Similar monuments were reflected in his female self’s version of this damned world. They were wooden pillars. Some made from bricks. It was not until hours later when he realized that these monuments were the concrete foundations of buildings.

Steel rods protruded from them; half melted as the world became populated with ruins. He could see structures far ahead. At times he wondered if he was moving at all due to the immense stretch of this world. The silence was agonizing. It was torturous for someone like him, who took comfort in the presence of others.

“What is this place trying to show me? I know my hypocrisy. I know how many people I’ve inadvertently killed trying to get rid of Scarlet Logic. I know it can’t be justified. I know I need to make amends.” Frost self-reflected upon himself in both meanings of the word. “… I but don’t know if there was any other way. I wonder if they’ve done it. Really. No. What the hell am I trying to say? I’m sure… everything’s fine on their side.”

Frost was always the kind of person who saw the light in the dark. Who would find a silver lining in his own darkest maelstroms. It was, in a way, his way to keep moving forward. He slapped his face, pinched himself, but he never dared to smile as he set foot into the ruins of the city he once called home, wondering where it all went wrong.

No.

He knew exactly what went wrong. Frost had already seen it firsthand in Elysia. That violence was the only way to stop the atrocities. Flames lit the ruined buildings like candlewicks, melting them down as molten slop sunk into the blood.

The screams of terror and despair became stronger, and he wished he could just make it all stop. He was oddly calm. A part of himself knew that thrashing out would change nothing in this world devoid of things to fight. The truth was laid bare before him. To fight them would mean to lie to himself.

This was perhaps Frost’s flaw. The guilt burned more than the heat of the flames, and it clung stronger than congealed blood that sept into his apparel. He looked down expectantly, as if his reflection would magically reflect a simpler version of himself.

“It’s a monster!”

“Fire! Fire! Put me out!”

“Extinguishers won’t work! Water just spreads it!”

“Everyone’s on fire! Please let me in – no – don’t go! Please bring us with you –!”

The voices only drove the blade of guilt deeper into Frost’s chest. There wasn’t a proper moment to ever lament the deaths of those he caused. He never believed himself to be accountable for the ones in this old world. Frost knew who he was. What occurred before mattered little.

The present mattered more.
 

HexadecimaPlaceholder

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Nesira had a better nightmare than usual.


She was in complete darkness, but, somehow, could still see her environment. She was in a square stone tunnel, with seamless walls of black stone. She crawled forward on her hands and knees, walls against her shoulders and ceiling brushing on her head. She was naked, cold, shivering, her joints aching, her hands and knees raw and bleeding from crawling on the floor that glistened like obsidian and scraped like pumice. With a rush of vertigo she realized that she was far, far underground, with miles of stone above her pressing down, and miles below threatening to swallow her whole.


As she crawled slowly forward for a seeming eternity, scratched and scraped from all directions, she realized that the ceiling was sinking, very slowly, lower, hairs breadth by hairs breadth. When she could bear the pressing no longer, she shifted, and instead of crawling on her hands and knees, slithered slowly forward on her chest and stomach across the grating surface, inch by agonizing inch, arms stretched out ahead and pulling her along. The ceiling continued sinking, until it was flush to her back again. She couldn't even breath, but she tried, halfheartedly, to continue crawling forward. Until she could not, and simply fell limp, pinned from all four angles.


A pair of hands grabbed her by the wrist and began pulling her forward again, inch by inch, rending her flesh against the abrasive stone. She screamed, echoes bouncing between walls and pounding her head like a hammer on an anvil. She sobbed, begging the hands to stop, but they only pulled her faster. As fast as a crawl. As fast as a casual walk. As fast as a run. She continued screaming, leaving a trail of streaked blood and echoing cries, self-sustaining like footprints in the dark. The walls continued to close in as her body wore thin. The hands pulled her faster. As fast as a galloping horse. As fast as a white-water stream. As fast as a falcon in free-fall. Faster. Faster. Faster than a human had ever traveled before, down a thinning corridor that stretched and ground until she was a thread of flesh miles long in the deep screaming darkness.


She opened her eyes and stared up at the full moon.
The world this takes place in is a very strange one, and one aspect of the wierdness is that all dreams are nightmares, such as this, though varying wildly in the particulars.
 

Lostinthecause

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From echoes of desolation Chapter 27

The world is a nightmarish hellscape for the downtrodden, as they bore the full weight of its horrors. Every catastrophe, every tragedy, they endured it all, always the first to feel the crushing blow. Now, they found themselves cast aside, homeless and broken, their bodies bruised and battered, their tears a testament to their suffering. Yet, there was no solace to be found, no comforting hand to wipe away their tears. Zaron, a witness to this heart-wrenching scene, could hardly bear the sight before him.

As the man responsible for this brutality reveled in his sadistic hunt, an evil grin etched across his face, Zaron and the others were consumed by terror. Many had succumbed to the shock, collapsing under the weight of the gruesome tableau before them. Lifeless bodies hung from the wall, his form grotesquely impaled by halberd. Mangled corpses littered the ground, innocent lives discarded like refuse. The Trigvi responsible for this carnage showed no remorse, callously kicking aside the living who dared cross his path. Fear-stricken, people crawled away in terror as he strode back towards the commercial district, leaving a trail of despair in his wake.

Zaron's thoughts swirled in turmoil as he made his way back to his home, shaken to his core. Doubt gnawed at his resolve to avenge his mother's death. How many others like this Trigvi served the Royal family? The man's strength had been awe-inspiring, and it filled Zaron with dread to think that someone even more formidable, like the emperor existed.

Sitting in contemplation, Zaron whispered to himself, 'He is the strongest man I have ever seen. How many could be stronger than him? If he is this powerful, the emperor must be an even greater force.' A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.
 

Allemite

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From Chapter 1 of Everything Is Connected.

Perhaps some people just love looking at the world with liquor-tinted glasses every so often, seeking a brief adventure to a parallel world brought by a mere slight change in perspective.


My Facebook bio for almost a decade now.

Karma is the web of cause and effect. Be the spider, not the fly.
 
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