starting the day in a nest of flowers and the warm morning air--
you have plans to go to for a walk, but something black is staining the back of your mind. you keep remembering a face of death, hollow eyes of a chipped cow skull hanging in your mother's basement--
you try to shake off the memory as you move along a path you aren't too sure you've explored before. parts look familiar, like the patch of wildflowers that is bald in the middle, or the twisted piece of wood that looks like an old man's face--
but suddenly you come across the unfamiliar, which presents itself as a wire green fence that seems to have sprung up out of nowhere. you follow it, fingers running along the chainlink pattern. there's a rusty sign hanging off it that reads "beach," which is funny, because you know for a fact that closest body of water is 200 miles away--
you continue anyways, curious, breathing in the heat of the late afternoon. the fence is still there, still green, still standing in the middle of a sparsely wooded desert--
and then suddenly it disappears (what was it trying to contain?). the sky has gotten dark, a murky blue blanketing everything- the moon is small but watching over you, albeit almost resentfully. there bodies of the cacti look like silhouetted hunchbacked bodyguards spread out across the barren lowland. it feels like they're telling you that you have gone far enough, it's okay to turn back now--
you do. you can't find the green fence, but you manage to find a road that will surely lead to somewhere. as you're walking back, you think you see a skull on the ground out of the corner of your eye, and you feel your pace quicken. you try not think about it as you keep on going, but that black spot in the back of your head is spreading, getting impossibly darker, suffocating--
next thing you know you wake up in your own bed to sunlight filtering through venetian blinds, sweating, gripping your phone--
you try to recall yesterday day's events, but there's just white noise.
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