It was a cold and dark morning. By the time you come to your senses, it as the consciousness that floats within you that exposes itself like a the rain clouds in London on a sunny day. Not too long left until a shadow hovered over the towering city which stood before the indefinite amount of skyscrapers covering the whole city in light which could be seen from the space monitoring programs from above. You await as the siren screeches into the distance echoing itself along the way. Why? You think. Your confusion turns into exhaustion as you look around. The fact that you haven’t  moved made this fact even more peculiar. Why do you do this to yourself?, You think in unison with the marching soldiers striding around you. It was evident. You’ve gone crazy. Maybe it was a dream you think. You’ve always wanted to know how it felt to be crazy, now you do. You’re stressed. Your mind turns to dust. You can’t think. Everything coming to your mind was slowly finding itself written on a piece of paper. You have no time to think. It wasn’t long before you have to leave. You decide to write a little longer. You have enough time before they take you away. Did you eat something wrong? It was …………

You blink a few times. Suddenly you come to your senses. You smell freshly cut grass as you tread along the uneven floor. A loud, deathly bang echoes through the area piercing your eardrums like a spear at its opponent. Loud cheers are heard in the distance and blinding flashes sparkle the sky. You realize a festival is commencing, and you stand for a moment to come to the realization of your situation. Swarms of young people surround you, shouting and screaming not giving a thought of the people around them. You march your way through the gathering pushing and shoving your way through the people like nettles in a forest. You finally reach some fresh air after, literally knocking people over as if you’re a ball at a bowling alley. The dark sky, shouts again in the form of a blinding light. You slowly struggle yourself to the nearest person in hopes that he’ll give you even the littlest detail about the happenings. He tells you in a slurred voice, “You’re in Southwark Park right now, its bonfire night!” he exclaims.

Category:
Communication

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  1. This reminds me of the poem by Stevie Smith called “Come on Come back” – here’s a copy of it:

    http://www.ppu.org.uk/learn/poetry/poetry_women1.html

    Reply

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