I like stories. Telling them, making them. Sometimes my stories are inspiried, sometimes I come up with them on my own. One story that I came up with on my own goes like this...
A boy wakes up at dawn, light pouring in from the window, forcing him to squint. He sits up and gets out of bed, smelling his familiar room and tasting the air, feeling his feet thud on the carpet floor and hearing the birds chirping their songs. Suddenly, his senses become numb to the world. No light, no carpet, no morning air no chirping birds. Nothing but his thoughts and consciousness.
Time passes and he can feel again, taste and smell again. Smell the hospital air, taste a handfed soup, feel the soft bedding and a sudden hug.
A day passes and he can hear again. He calls out, is anyone there? Nothing but his own voice.
Another day passes and he can see again, hear the world around him. But not his world. He looks up and does not see ceiling lights. He looks around and does not see a hospital. He looks down and does not see himself in a bed. He looks up and sees an orange sky with rippling clouds. He looks around, sees red rocky mountains and small mice like creatures. He looks down and sees red, sand like terrain. He reaches out to touch the mice but only passes through it. He reaches down to touch the sand but feels only a soft bed. It is not his world, but is it?
Elsewhere, on Mars, a girl is having the same surrealities. Sitting on a hospital bed being handfed soup. But instead of rocky mountains and rippiling red clouds, she sees fields of grass beyond what the eye can see and huge puffed clouds like giant marshmallows.
Doesn't that sound fascinating?