I Was Running Down A Hallway. Everything was washed out, grey, and shades of black. It smeared the edges of the dream, like charcoal paint brushes, leaving the edges distant and blurry.
They pulled up to the house a quarter after one. The police lights flashed: first red, then blue, across the all white house. It was the perfect place for a young child to grow up in. Only he wouldn’t be . . . . . . because he was missing.
Fallen Raindrops scattered dreams