AaronLustt
Active Ranker
Weird dreams that happened over the course of two days
Day 1 (16th Oct, 2026)
We were a group of 10, or maybe less? I had stopped keeping track of lives. It had been a few years since the war started. I was part of the scavengers, expected to go out every morning to gather resources.
On that day, we decided to go check out the rarely visited, ruined textile factory, outside of which laid a pile of bones. The inside of the factory was well lit due to the absence of a roof. I remember the creaky, rotten stairs, the old machines, and a skeleton with a shattered skull, probably from a close-range gunshot. It laid there, alone from the rest of them. Why didn't the person run? I asked myself.
Day 2 (17th Oct, 2026)
A different me, a different group, but the same damn place. This might have happened a few years back. The soldiers seemed to be more active. My group wasn't made up of scavengers, but of people who still had some hope left, people who still had a family to go back to every weekend. I wasn't ready to mingle with them. I could sense that the situation was worsening, and yet they seemed oblivious to that fact. Sometimes, I envied them. How could they still laugh and smile?
The weekend was around the corner. I had my bags packed. "Are you already going back?" someone asked. I don't think I replied. "You should go back as well. This is not worth it", I wanted to say. Sleeping among these machines, the old stairs, and the congested rooms wasn't worth it, not for me. Just one more day, I told myself.
It was midnight. I woke up to the sound of Jeep engines. They were outside. A few of us had been captured, but the soldiers hadn't reached my room yet, it was upstairs. I looked at the rusty stairs that I very much despised, the ones I rarely used. "Will they hold?" I asked myself. But I had no other choice. Halfway down the stairs, I lost my balance. It wasn't the stairs that betrayed me, but my own feet.
I landed on the floor with a loud thud. I could hear footsteps closing in. They might have heard me. My left leg was fractured. I crawled to a spot behind a small machine, not as big or creepy as the rest. Through the window, I saw the people I lived with getting shot. I wanted to get up, but I couldn't. I saw one of the uniforms. He was coming directly towards my hiding spot.
But it couldn't be. I should survive, right? Maybe I could fight him? Or dodge the bullet and run away like in the movies? No. He came right at me, pointed his gun towards me, and I saw, I heard, a shot.
Day 1 (16th Oct, 2026)
We were a group of 10, or maybe less? I had stopped keeping track of lives. It had been a few years since the war started. I was part of the scavengers, expected to go out every morning to gather resources.
On that day, we decided to go check out the rarely visited, ruined textile factory, outside of which laid a pile of bones. The inside of the factory was well lit due to the absence of a roof. I remember the creaky, rotten stairs, the old machines, and a skeleton with a shattered skull, probably from a close-range gunshot. It laid there, alone from the rest of them. Why didn't the person run? I asked myself.
Day 2 (17th Oct, 2026)
A different me, a different group, but the same damn place. This might have happened a few years back. The soldiers seemed to be more active. My group wasn't made up of scavengers, but of people who still had some hope left, people who still had a family to go back to every weekend. I wasn't ready to mingle with them. I could sense that the situation was worsening, and yet they seemed oblivious to that fact. Sometimes, I envied them. How could they still laugh and smile?
The weekend was around the corner. I had my bags packed. "Are you already going back?" someone asked. I don't think I replied. "You should go back as well. This is not worth it", I wanted to say. Sleeping among these machines, the old stairs, and the congested rooms wasn't worth it, not for me. Just one more day, I told myself.
It was midnight. I woke up to the sound of Jeep engines. They were outside. A few of us had been captured, but the soldiers hadn't reached my room yet, it was upstairs. I looked at the rusty stairs that I very much despised, the ones I rarely used. "Will they hold?" I asked myself. But I had no other choice. Halfway down the stairs, I lost my balance. It wasn't the stairs that betrayed me, but my own feet.
I landed on the floor with a loud thud. I could hear footsteps closing in. They might have heard me. My left leg was fractured. I crawled to a spot behind a small machine, not as big or creepy as the rest. Through the window, I saw the people I lived with getting shot. I wanted to get up, but I couldn't. I saw one of the uniforms. He was coming directly towards my hiding spot.
But it couldn't be. I should survive, right? Maybe I could fight him? Or dodge the bullet and run away like in the movies? No. He came right at me, pointed his gun towards me, and I saw, I heard, a shot.