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Perfectly Creepy Island
Stars like silver pebbles on black silk rose above amidst pink and purple galaxies. Below is a golden beached island, with sand fine as air covering every inch but the palm trees with a few ripe coconuts, scattered about the small island towards the inland area. In the center of the perfect circle is a campfire, with sparks flying from it like tiny comets falling to a golden earth. 8 palm leaves lay circularly about it, pointed neatly towards the flame almost like campfire log seats. The ocean was a perfect turquoise, lapping the shore at an exact interval and in flawless harmony, making a wonderful sound. Pink shells lay beneath and some on the shore, in a set linearly circular location. In fact, the trees weren't scattered but placed in circular rows at exact ratioed intervals, everything radiating from the fire. The sparks flew in a perfect circle as well. It began to feel creepy and unnerving. Why was everything so exact and flawless? Not a grain of sand was out of place and no natural randomness of creatures. Every other tree had a nest in it with an exact wren sitting in it with 2 chicks. This alternated between rows. The trees that fell between had the same 3 coconuts. In fact, what first appeared perfection and nature was terrifying and forced, fake. But there was nothing amiss. Why not just rest in the perfection? Besides, how could it be discovered what was going on? You start to panic, realizing you almost fell for it, and scream. You whirl about, looking for a way to escape the perfection, but find nothing. You frantically try to dig in the sand to find rocks you could use as tools, but it falls into the hole, seemingly naturally, except it goes back to the exact same positions. You turn around and realize you aren't leaving any footprints. You collapse by the fire, crying. What do you do?
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This article has 6 comments.
im pretty open about whats going on, and aside from me being lonely(a problem potentially being solved) and bored because I live in a place that is the opposite of everything I am, I'm pretty happy. but that got me thinking... generally the dark creepy stuff I write isn't about me, something else inside(probably a trauma storehouse) is pouring into it. maybe that's stuck and I should consider figuring out a way to help...
what do you do isn't rhetorical, how would you cope? (I don't actually have a solution, but if it helps u got there with no memory but basic knowledge of culture, waking up on the sand in perfectly symmetrical and clean clothes and perfectly straight hair, etc. you understand enough to know this isn't normal and are freaked out, but you cant get anything to cut down a tree to make a raft or something. its not a matrix situation. I'm curios abt your responses, use the comments their there for a reason!)