As I stood before my canvas, the morning light fractured into a thousand hues, casting an ethereal glow on the world I'd momentarily resurrected through art. The apocalypse could wait; I had brushstrokes to perfect. Today was my first day at university, and I felt like a blank canvas myself—eager to be filled with colors, textures, and stories.
I lost myself in the swirling patterns of my surreal landscape, the strokes dancing like specters on the canvas. Time blurred, and the world outside receded, leaving only the thrum of creativity. But the clock on my wall was unforgiving, its tick-tock a reminder that reality awaited.
As I cleaned my brushes, a shiver ran down my spine. My vision began to blur, and I was transported to a desolate realm. Bodies lay scattered like discarded puppets, blood seeping into the earth like dark, liquid tendrils. An eerie luminescence cast an otherworldly glow, and a figure emerged from the shadows—its features a smudge of charcoal, its eyes burning with an inner fire.
My heart racing, I tried to step back, but my feet felt anchored to the ground. The figure loomed closer, its presence a cold whisper on my skin. And then, just as suddenly, the vision vanished. I stumbled backward, gasping for air. What had I seen? A premonition? A memory from a past life? The image lingered, haunting me like a shadow on my soul.