Literary Revenant
One Thousand Club
You feel a strange sensation, the room is completely still. There is no noise, save for your breath. You blink your eyes and find that you are no longer where you were. No couch, no chairs, not even a floor to stand upon. You find that you are floating in a black void, numb to all sensations. You begin to wonder if this is real, after all, you were just browsing something on the internet a moment ago. There is no light, no sound aside from your breath, it is quiet and peaceful. Your thoughts wander aimlessly as you enjoy this quiet bliss. That is when you feel something; warmth? Like a warm breeze blowing through you breaking the previous numbness. Light surges around you, garish and bright. You cover your eyes from the light with your hand. Then there is sound, like a rushing waterfall enveloping you. It is deafening but is quickly followed by sounds of chatter and cheers.
The light relents, and you are able to see again. You find that you are in a room with wooden walls, a carpet atop a heavily scuffed wooden floor, a well-made bed with pressed sheets, and comfy-looking pillows. In front of the bed is a sturdy desk and chair, both made of light-colored wood. They are designed in a way you've never seen before, definitely handmade. There is a window to the outside, covered by a solid brown curtain hanging from a bronze rod. You turn to the bed, wanting to rest under its warm covers, but you find an old heavily worn journal. Bound in leather, like old books you'd find at a library. It is badly creased from what looked like years of use and is otherwise unremarkable aside from a lotus-like emblem on its face. Its cloth bookmark placed between yellowed parchment pages. Curiousity grips you, you take the journal and it opens to the page in the marker. It's beautifully handwritten in an odd language, but you are able to read it like it was your own writing.
The light relents, and you are able to see again. You find that you are in a room with wooden walls, a carpet atop a heavily scuffed wooden floor, a well-made bed with pressed sheets, and comfy-looking pillows. In front of the bed is a sturdy desk and chair, both made of light-colored wood. They are designed in a way you've never seen before, definitely handmade. There is a window to the outside, covered by a solid brown curtain hanging from a bronze rod. You turn to the bed, wanting to rest under its warm covers, but you find an old heavily worn journal. Bound in leather, like old books you'd find at a library. It is badly creased from what looked like years of use and is otherwise unremarkable aside from a lotus-like emblem on its face. Its cloth bookmark placed between yellowed parchment pages. Curiousity grips you, you take the journal and it opens to the page in the marker. It's beautifully handwritten in an odd language, but you are able to read it like it was your own writing.
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