A/N: This is another story I wrote long before I actually started getting into writing (when I was in highschool and just did this stuff as a time killer). So yeah back then I just slapped some stuff into MS Word from whatever came to mind and said looks good! Gave a thumbs up and kept it onto my computer to let it eat dust...that is until I got a fictionpress account and then posted on here without really going through this story again (was before I actually started putting effort into editing my stories, I was uber lazy back then okay...still kinda am, don't judge me :P). So I appreciate you all taking the time to read and comment/review on the story, especially constructive criticism. Thanks and hope you enjoy the story (even with all it's faults).
They tell me I'm crazy. I laugh at this, as they do not know who or what I'm. They tell me my past may just be a fake, but what do they know of my past. Though who are they? People of reality or just my own fiction, people of who I know of or people who my mind thinks to know of. In the night I would sit in my apartment, just wondering into the darkness. My wandering which leads me to a past which I believe to be real. A World War II survivor, which I think maybe my past. I am a person of guilt; my guilt never ceases to stop as each day is a burden to carry it upon my shoulders. They tell me I'm suffering from post war stress. They say I'm traumatic, what I think maybe completely out of reality or the concept of it. Every night in dreams I dream of horrors of death and mass bloodshed. Then voices rise in my head telling me of my weakness and of strange and mysterious things. I'm not crazy, I only express of what I feel and fear. My family members, concerned for my health. For this they visit every day as I just try and break all connections. My bonds to the outside world, grows weaker, day by day. My sister questioned, "Are you a schizophrenic?" I say, "Not me, but the whole world is". Though how can the whole world be living in a dream world? Am I living a lie? Or is it just what I perceive it to be? Though after countless nights of staring of into the darkness which binds me to the unforeseen truth, I realize day by day that the whole world maybe right, and I may be wrong. "Deep into that darkness peering. Long I stood there, wondering…fearing…doubting", as of to whether I really am who I am. Finally I have come to the conclusion, "I'm a traumatic", as now the world and I sit on separate thoughts and feelings. I'm alone.
Note: Some credits to which I owe.
The Famous quote of Edgar Allen Poe which I've used, "Deep into that darkness peering. Long I stood there, wondering…fearing…doubting". One of the things which inspired this short story/excerpt.