He stood, entranced, at the sight in front of him. A sea of tall, green grass waving in the wind, dotted with the purple of lavender and yellow of buttercups dancing with the tall stalks. Accompanying the beautiful sight was the calm breeze that whispered into his ear and the music of the grass swaying to and fro, creating the slightest swish, swish. The clear blue sky just seemed to add further to the serenity, with picturesque white clouds scattered at just the right intervals. The sun shone down, but the air was still cool.

He looked down at his scuffed, dirty shoes and at his worn, old army jacket. Sighing, he threw his head back and closed his eyes. Taking out his hands from his pockets, he stretched them up towards the sky, and then let his hands just flop. He slowly brought his head back down and exhaled quietly. A troubled grimace made its way onto his unshaved, dirty face, revealing two rows of yellowing teeth clutching a cigarette butt.

His back itched with the feeling of being watched. The corners of his mouth lifted up as he slowly turned around to see what was looking at him. Hundreds of wide, haunted eyes looked at him. Eerily quiet, hands reached out to him. Glancing at the ruins of a grey, smog-filled city that lay yonder, a sigh made its way out of him again. The rag-doll like children came forward, still silent and hands still extended. They clambered over the cliff, forcing him to back into the tall grass. Tripping over, his vision was swarmed with faces that held a ghostly pallor, with nothing to indicate life inside these creatures. Thin, bony grey fingers grabbed him as their white rags fluttered in the breeze that was so calming just a few moments ago.

He wanted to resist. Hands and legs flying everywhere, he threw himself around before slowly losing his energy – not that he had much to begin which. He wasn’t much better than the creatures that were in front of him either. He, himself was far from having a healthy flush and meat on his bones.

His mouth lifted up once again, yet the creatures showed no sign of any reaction. They merely stared silently at his face with the same haunted look. Laying his head on the ground, he closed his eyes. The cigarette butt was spit out of his mouth and rolled far into the grass. The sky turned as polluted as the city, and the grass slowly broke into pieces, shattering the world he’d built for himself.

And, finally, he succumbed to the feeling a thousand cold hands grabbing at him.

                Who’s in control?


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