Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25795999-20150704201853

Again. She fell down the stairs again. My strength was fading after carrying her up the staircase so many times. One more time. She was long dead, but a rose is still beautiful after withering. The last time I dropped her, I heard several cracking and snapping noises. Breaking point. If only she were still alive. Her body was more durable than her soul. Pathetic. I went home. This time was not satisfying enough. It was like starving and only eating a single chunk of meat. It only tempted my hunger to grow. I rested. When I awoke, my once bloody clothes were nowhere to be found, and I was wearing a simple, innocent outfit. I went through my day, somehow forgetting my hunger, and returned home in the evening. I fell asleep... Suddenly, I was following a man on a quiet street at night. I started running after him. He failed to notice me. I tackled him to the ground and pulled out a knife that I did not recognize. It only took an hour and a half to virtually turn him inside out. As I began my walk home, I gradually lost all focus. I again woke up in my room, went through my day, and realized something while laying in bed. I did not own any knives other than one kitchen knife. Neither of the knives I used in my past two "feedings" matched the kitchen knife. I then made another realization. Neither incident was on the news. I suddenly felt like I had done hours of work without any benefit. Both feedings were only dreams. I got up and grabbed the kitchen knife. Time to make my dreams a reality.  