whenever someone replies, I will pick the one I like best and continue the story.
You spot her sleeping, curled into herself on rounded stones, lining a starry river reflecting the painted night sky. A murky, sickly sweet aroma drifts from the lazy river. The rocks have a slight green wash where the gurgling water had hit many times, lapping water trying to reach up. The stones are shiny, washed with slimy water with snail shells littering the edge of the water, some slowly creeping along and others stuck, in death. A rustle hits your senses from behind, and you can barely make out the shape of a stray squirrel in the starlight.Her face tells the story of the dreams playing in her head. From what you observe, you think she is having a nightmare. You watch her writhe and whimper, as the light of the pale cornflower moon reflects off an identical, shining mark on her forehead. She appears to be slipping into the murky blue. Her tusks shine. Her face screws.
What
do
you
do?
