Story Snippets will be the stories that don't really fit into any other categories. They could be messing around with characters, different styles of writing, or just random bits of stories. Enjoy!

I am deathly aware of everything. Every movement, every slice, every bit of pain that I should feel, but do not. I am also aware of my lack of fear. It was like a dream, but everything felt wrong.

Nothing is normal. I can feel every part of my body consciously, from where the fibres of my hair rest in my scalp, to the light touch of the sheet on my legs.

There is a fresh smell that I notice. Like a sweet, unnatural, clean. It fills me with distaste. I wonder where it is birthed from. I do not see anything. I wonder if blackness is all that I will ever see, born again.

Nothing is painful. Even the scratch of the bright light against my eyes does not cause me pain, or make me want to close them again. All I observe is the glimmering light, dancing around above me. Useless. I must know more.

I begin to turn my head. Slowly, carefully, deliberately. The lights stop dancing on my eyes. I see an arm, clothed in blue. I follow the arm, looking upward to half a face.

Nothing is peaceful. My movements are noticed by the face I had observed. I am suddenly turned back to the roof. My eyes are gently pushed closed, and I do not struggle.

The movement I could feel on my skin slows, coming to a stop. Things are sealed, washed, and covered. I hear what I assume are footsteps, people leaving. I am alone, as I was before I was born again.

Nothing is stopping me. I open my eyes, looking. I find the sheet, and I raise an arm. For a second I appreciate the awareness, the presence all through it, from shoulder to fingertips. It is powerful.

I pull the sheet off. I hear it land on the ground, rustling as it settles into its new position. I decide to lift my torso, using my hands to push me up into a seated position. I look myself up and down. I must assess myself fully.

Nothing is easy. With this awareness, comes a struggle. I must not be careless.

I decide to stand, gently turning and swinging my legs down. I feel the sizzle of cold on my bare feet. I begin to move. I look to find a reflective surface, and I do not look far. I look myself in the eyes.

Nothing is real. This is not me.