"... surely there was a little magic in the world. The people who denied the existence of magic, they were the ones that it went badly for."
-John Ajvide Lindqvist

The same gate, old. Wrought iron. You know the ones, like Gone With the Wind. Rusted like a time in your life you can't forget. Frozen in a red frost.

A child. The same girl every time; blonde and scared. She calls to me. I can see her, I don't know why. I'm afraid.

I'm aware of those without a belief in gods, but no man who has ever dreamed. Can deny having been haunted.

O' how I loath dreams. A curse from a forgotten time, writ by a forgotten primate god.

And though this dream is as old as my memory, it still perplexes me. A lost dynast vision. Like a ghost story from a vietnam vet.

As a child it seemed haunting. But anyone on the coast can tell you their gates are rusty. Like Gone With the Wind. And just maybe I, am the little girl.

After all, when you're lost no one knows where you are, but you.

My kingdom for a normal dream.

"Welcome to prime time, bitch."
-Freddy Krueger

Yes
No
Do nothing