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Competitions For Travel

A Traveler's Lost Dreams

Before there was light there were the Nightmares, and before that, there were the things that feasted upon the nightmares, the dark. Those that were born from the Darkness, at the birth of the First light of the Cosmic Sands that helped the worlds take shape. When the very first of the soul-possessing creatures, the lightborne witnessed the darkness, they sought to destroy it, fearing that would consume all things in its Voidfull Sea, but in their folly, their hubris had undone a fundamental aspect of the cosmos. Without the threat of the darkness to stave off the nightmares, all the worlds within each stellar grain became the prey they could hunt without limit. Grain by grain, world by world was lost, consumed by the nightmares, expanding the reach of the Voidfull Sea. But their hunger would not go unchecked, as the lightborne that remained, sought to correct the faults of their ancestors. Using the antithesis of the nightmare's might, they empowered a chosen few with their dreams, and with that, they forced the nightmares back into the Voidfull Sea. Using their light, they shielded the Cosmic Sands, from the reach of the abyssal waters. But where there is light, darkness will be born to soon consume it, and for some, the light isn't strong enough to keep the nightmares away. These grains, these unguarded worlds, without their light, their now, dustborne find those with that can once again wield the might of their dreams. For someone must, they must bear our dreams with the strength to achieve them. They may never have wanted a part in this ageless war, but they have now been entrusted with our hopes, the very last of our Dreams.
AllenWisse · 16.6K Views

For Me, For Us, For Everyone

Cigarette smoke curls in the stagnant air, the dim glow of a dying bulb casting twisted shadows against the walls littered with half-torn articles and red-thread connections. Somewhere between the ink-stained papers and the scattered pills, a man sits—silent, unmoving, staring blankly at a stuffed monkey in a clown suit. A detective, they call him. A man of justice, a solver of mysteries. But behind the applause and empty praises, behind the sharp smiles and hollow congratulations, he is nothing but a walking contradiction—one hand holding a case file, the other exchanging cash for little plastic sachets. His mind is a labyrinth of voices, whispers that coil around his thoughts like suffocating vines. His brother grins at him from the corners of his vision, eyes glinting with the truth he refuses to face. His father’s voice is gentle, forgiving—too forgiving. Too much for a man who doesn’t deserve it. Each pill swallowed is another step into the illusion, another moment of stolen happiness before the weight of reality drags him under. He walks the city streets, drowning in faces that admire him, loathe him, see him as something he is not. He is both a hero and a villain, a detective and a criminal, a man trying to outrun the past while shackled to its corpse. And at the end of the night, when the echoes of the world fall away, all that remains is the darkness, the whispers, and the suffocating truth—he can never escape them.
Zeisn · 0 Views
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