[open w/ red] The voice in my head took over. It had been controlling my actions and my words for the past few weeks. It killed innocents and I could do nothing to stop it. I had finally gained some control and tried running out of my room and call for help, but it held me back and It forced me to the floor. I managed to break a few glasses on the way. I hear someone barge into my room.
Run. The definition of Romanticism often includes the ominous, vaguely disturbing nature of a thing. She runs...but where? Why? From what? Toward what? Through an endless tunnel, dreamlike, of tall, slender trees. And dare we think it, is she running through...Death?