Ramzul: Directed Writing

He’d seen this before. Over and over again, he’d seen it. The crisp blueness of that endless sky clear of the fluffy, soft, white obstructions that normally lay about in that colored canvas. He’d seen those bright happy faces turn to shocked fear filled visages. Their loud terrified voices, their franticly waving arms, the many small footsteps made by the rush of feet slamming against the hard stone-like concrete floor. He felt it all before. He remembered the white dove that taunted him countless time as he fell facing the sky. He’s done it too many times – in his sleep, in those dreams. But when those pangs of pain or maybe phantoms of pain hit him, he’d always wondered, would he wake up?