Wooded Path: Where am I


Static-blurry vision starts to become clear again.

It becomes quite clear that you’re not in your living room anymore.

All of your clothes have been stripped away and you find yourself laying face down on a bed in the midst of a black and white forest.

Dead silence. 

You begin to open your mouth to speak, but no words could be formed. 

Despite the fact that you can’t even hear your own heartbeat, you manage to hear your inner thoughts. 

“Where am I? What the fuck is this? Where did this bed come from? Am I dreaming? Am I dead?” 

Non-stop thoughts rush through your mind about what all of this is.

Not only can you not speak, you cannot move either.

The only thing you can do is project thoughts and see the blank forest ahead of you.

The lifeless branches and leaves begin to slowly sway back and forth in an unnatural way.

It’s almost as though the branches twitched like limbs from an animal rather than swaying from the breeze.

A horrific blast of sound derived from what seemed to be a million dying screams and sheer plastics and metals scraping against one another engulfs your ears.

You somehow manage to break the barrier of what kept you paralyzed onto the bed, sat up, and covered your ears as tightly as possible.

No matter how tightly you hold onto them, the sound only grows louder and more sinister. 

You rock back and forth in terror until you feel a steamy, warm, unknown substance touch the back of your neck. 

You jump up and dash through the maze of black and white trees, not even bothering to look back at what touched you.

In your mind, it didn’t matter what it was, all you knew was that you needed to get out of there.

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode out of your chest, palms and feet are slick as winter slush, head throbbing like a constant hammering to a nail, every part of your body tingles like millions of hot needles.

A faint sound of children’s laughter can be heard from several yards behind you, which only causes the adrenaline to pump faster in your veins. 

The chalky white path below your feet grows a bit wider until it splits into a 3 pronged pathway.

One pathway is made of a chalky white substance which is straight ahead.

Another path, made of grey slush and fog sits at your right.

The last path which is in your life is overgrown with black roses and thorns.

You stop and realize that you must choose a pathway.

A small childlike voice from out of nowhere whispers, “Choose wisely” into your left ear making you jump a bit.

More coming soon…


(all credit goes to the original owner(s) of featured media)

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