The silent twist of fate is most cruel, for I will bleed raw in your arms.
Rosie knows she's destined to, how to say it - bite the dust before she turns twenty five. Every night, the same dream. And every morning? The same horror she seems to be li...
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
Dear lover, (I really don't know how to address these letters so please bear with me!)
Why is writing my life story out so goddamn hard? I swear that I've sat at my desk for almost an hour, debating how to start this until I remembered that it won't have to be formal. My goal is, that when I die, you can read these letters and learn more about my story because I'm sure that we won't have much time. Correction: I won't have much time. But that's a topic for another letter because I'm way too inexperienced for this shit right now.
Of course, first thing first, let's start at the very beginning. Actually, no... let's say once upon a time..... (I really don't have the element of storytelling in my blood but hey! That's not the point and I'm getting side tracked again)
To be completely honest, I don't exactly remember when the nightmares started but once they did, they were all I ever thought about. I think I might've been around five or six at the time, and poor young me screamed in her sleep. Screamed bloody murder, which didn't sit right with my parents and their 'perfect family with no problems AT ALL picture' they painted. But the canvas beneath the paint was raw and terrifying.
One particular night, in late November 2005, I remember. The chill was strong, and the sky dark, yet nothing was colder and darker than my weirdly recurring dream.
She was running. Running through a forest. It was dark and a searing pain ran through her head. What was she doing? She doesn't know. Why was she even running? She didn't know either.
The world span and she heard a shout.
"Rosie!" It's desperate and not too far away. Maybe she can make it to the person in time?
In time? In time to what? Rosie's mind was a whirl, each thought modified and not her own.
There's a flash and the last thing she saw was a spear coming straight at her.... Straight at her .... Straight at her.
Her scream ricocheted through her ears and through the pink-painted bedroom which she wakes up in.
