The Island

“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep”


-Robert Frost



“How would you feel if everything you thought you knew was proven to be a lie? To grow up alone? No one knowing you. [No one understanding you]. Who am I? I keep looking at myself in the mirror… As if I will find the answer in the reflection staring back at me. Where do I belong? Do I even care?… I don’t. I don’t even understand myself anymore. Who am I? I want to know if anyone else hears it too. The whispering in the back of my head. That voice, filling me with despair [dread]. Telling me to forget everything, and embrace the darkness. The darkness is always there. [And] darkness is born from fear.”




A young girl turned in her bed, again and again. She heard a sound, she was sure it was real. [and it would not go away]. No matter how much she wished it, the sound was still there.


It sounded like a swing going back and forth, but that made no sense. [After all, there was no playground for miles.]


She turned in her bed, once more. How long would it take for her to fall back asleep, she wondered. The girl jerked up from her bed, and headed towards the door, to find the source of that annoying sound. As she left her room, and walked down the hallways, her steps seemed to fall in place with the swinging noise. Back and Forth, Right Foot and Left Foot, and again.


She finally stopped walking, and looked around. She was in the Red Dining Room, and as she looked around in the dark, she found the source of the sound. Her eyes became fixated on the sight, and she found herself unable to move.


She closed her eyes, and as she stood there, the darkness engulfed her. And in the silence, as she felt herself falling, the clock’s pendulum swung once more, back and forth.


A boy walked slowly across the courtyard. He looked around and up at the sun. It was dawn, and he could see the sunrise. He walked towards the oldest tree in the [square? courtyard?], which stood proudly in the front of the entrance to the Red Hall. He leaned against the familiar trunk, as he turned his face up to the sun. And with wide open eyes he soaked it in.




The whispering started up again. And the boy pressed his ear against the tree trunk, in a vain attempt to hear the words spoken. The girl lay limp, sprawled on the floor, unable to move. She heard the voice, as if it was shouting, and wished to close her ears from the dreadful noise.


As each child who listened fell into a seemingly dream-like trance, Cognitio found himself falling through the sheets of his bed, but he never hit the floor. Instead, he found himself falling hard onto lush green grass in a place he had never seen, let alone dreamed of, before.

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