What a Beautiful Nightmare | Teen Ink

What a Beautiful Nightmare

April 8, 2013
By AbbaDabbaDoo PLATINUM, Mountain Grove, Missouri
AbbaDabbaDoo PLATINUM, Mountain Grove, Missouri
43 articles 6 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
Some folks are wise and some are otherwise. I guess we know which one you are.

What a beautiful nightmare.
A knight of black upon a black horse rides out on the hill. The horse moves with both graceful speed and fearful darkness. The power of the stallion’s muscles is unmatched, bunching up and then smoothing out in lunges of pure energy.
No one seems to see them but me, not a head turns in the rider and horse’s direction as they gallop on the hill of grey grass. People are dressed in the grey of fog, and seem to disappear if looked at indirectly. They make moans and groans that rival even trees in a storm.
I watch in fear and excitement as the knight and his stallion ride up beside me, and the knight holds out his hand. I can only make out eyes, blacker then midnight without even the gleam of a moon to guide me. I grab his hand.
Without a moment to spare I am pulled upon the horse, tall and mighty, who snorts and tugs at his reigns. I wish to scream, but my mouth is clamped tightly shut as we take off.
The stallion is suddenly flying in the air, and the knight is chuckling lowly as I hold on to him for my life. The sky is grey, too. No sun is seen, and the moon is a weak milky white high above us. No clouds, just a heavy fog under us. The grey ground and grey people are gone, ants in the universe.
The brisk, chilly air whips my face with bitter force, yet after a moment I begin to see things like I never have before.
Patterns form in the sky, a soft glowing gold amidst the dreary grey. I can see it. I can see reason, and sanity, and love for once in my short life.
I can see what I’ve done wrong; I can see how I need to change and how I need to stay. I see what I’m meant to be.
And then, just as I am about to change for the better of all, the knight is turned to a smoky figure, who is blown away in the breeze. The stallion stiffens under me, and transforms into a hooded man dressed in black, with a wickedly sharp scythe in his sickly pale hand.
I am falling, falling to the grey ground, and the grey people look up and point and moan louder and louder.
I twist around as I fall and see him one last time, floating in the air above me, watching me with a small smile of sorrow on his face. Watching, waiting, working on me every breath of my life, I see Death just before I die.
What a beautiful nightmare.

The author's comments:
This is how life works without God, written in words.

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