Misoza

Heyas, a few weeks ago I had to submit a portfolio for this creative writing course I'm hoping to get into, one of the required elements was a micro-fiction of no more than 600 words titled "Grave Errors" or "The Wave". Anyways just thought I'd share it with you.
* BTW it's 601 words, hope they aren't finicky *

Grave Errors

The man writhes in his sleep. The recurring dream that has plagued him so mercilessly is back again, clawing at his mind like some voracious predator eager to break down his mental defences. The dream sequence is only in its beginning stages, however his sub-conscious mind knows what is to come. Wave after wave of terror washes over him, threatening to engulf him in a sea of insanity, cruelly bringing him tantalisingly close to the shores of wakefulness, only to be sucked once more into the currents of his all pervading dread. The subject desperately tries to wrest control of his dreamscape from an unknown overseer, however his attempts are in vain. Grimly, the figure ceases to thrash about, submitting to the oncoming horror.

The dream equivalent of the tormented soul opens his eyes and sits up. Sweeping grass plains stretch out in every direction to infinity, with sparse representations of trees the only objects to break up the stark landscape. Listlessly he begins to walk his death march, knowing that every step he takes brings him ever closer to the source of his anguish, the epicentre of this unrelenting nightmare. Abruptly the colours that make up his surrealistic world begin to ebb and shift. The lush green grasslands which he is traversing wither before his eyes into desolate, barren wasteland. The rich azure sky darkens, ominous storm clouds coalesce from nothingness to loom menacingly above. Peals of thunder reverberate around the now bleak landscape, and flashes of lightning can be seen faintly through the dark forbidding thunderheads. Frantically the figure begins to run, not for the purpose of evading his fate, but because his subliminal mind forces him to. Primal instinct spurs him on, to run harder, faster, however there is no fleeing this formless threat. An inaudible whimper escapes the lips of the terrified being as the event which he had been so dreading commences. It begins to rain.

However this is not the glorious life-supporting rain which he is most accustomed to from the waking world. In its place is a fine mist of cloying dirt, slowly descending from above. Each breath he takes is a laborious effort, his eyes sting and begin to water as the fine grains of earth continue to pour from above. Choking, the figure collapses to his knees, his hands raking at the thin layer of dust which now covers his world. Slowly the mist develops into a steady stream of dirt, the clouds above him endlessly dumping small clumps of soil. Before long it is a torrential downpour, the now desperate figure frenetically attempts to keep above the rising layer of silt, however it is too soft to support his weight and he sinks back down into it. Spluttering, he attempts to free himself one final time, however it is too late as the level of earth is now up to his shoulders, and the slim ray of hope he had held onto so ruthlessly diminishes. He begins to scream as the rising tide of dirt reaches his neck, however all that comes forth is a sickening gurgle as the dirt fills his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Finally his vision is obscured as the level rises above his head, his body is racked by one last convulsion, before at last he submits to death.

The sweat soaked dreamer opens his eyes, and breathes out a shaky sigh of relief. Tentatively reaching forth, his hands discover a barrier in the darkness. He screams, and begins to pound on the coffin. He hopes this period of consciousness will be his last.

beats

Nice, its cool.

It'd suck to be that guy though.

P.s I can make it 600, yes, I am a miracle man.

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Misoza

"breathes out a shaky sigh of relief"

"releases a shaky sigh of relief"


there 600 and it still sounds like english.