MidReal Story

Whispers of the Raven's Flight

Scenario: Melody wakes up screaming, haunted by nightmares of her cat Buster's gruesome injuries. In reality, Buster is by her side, comforting her. As the days pass, Melody notices a vulture perched in a tree, watching her. Crows appear, chasing the vulture away, and Melody begins to scatter food for them. She develops a bond with the crows, who seem to understand her. However, Melody's nightmares persist, and she starts to question her own memories. She finds Buster's collar missing and discovers a pile of crow feathers, which she buries in the woods. The crows continue to visit, and Melody grows attached to them. One crow even enters her home, speaking to her and eating peanuts from her hand. Melody takes Buster to the vet, where she learns that his eye was removed due to an accident. She's shocked, as she doesn't remember this event. The vet assures her that Buster is comfortable and not in pain. As the nights pass, Melody's dreams become more vivid and disturbing. She sees a room full of vultures, and the crows attack them, leading to a bloody battle. The crows then guide Melody to the vulture tree, where she's taken back to a peaceful day on the farm. However, the tranquility is short-lived, as Buster's body begins to disintegrate in front of her. Melody wakes up screaming again, realizing it's midnight. She searches for Buster but finds none. With a flashlight, she ventures into the woods, accompanied by crows. They lead her to a sign that reads "HERE LIES A CROW / A STOLEN SOUL." Melody is taken back to a normal day on the farm, but the peace is short-lived. She finds black and white fur with tire marks, realizing that Buster has been killed. The story concludes with Melody screaming, surrounded by vultures circling overhead. A crow's eyes meet hers, and it says, "Denial. Tired. We are." Melody remembers, and the story ends with a grave marker: "HERE LIES BUSTER / A STOLEN SOUL / I'M SO SORRY / I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, MY LITTLE BOO."

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Melody wakes up screaming, haunted by nightmares of her cat Buster's gruesome injuries. In reality, Buster is by her side, comforting her. As the days pass, Melody notices a vulture perched in a tree, watching her. Crows appear, chasing the vulture away, and Melody begins to scatter food for them. She develops a bond with the crows, who seem to understand her. However, Melody's nightmares persist, and she starts to question her own memories. She finds Buster's collar missing and discovers a pile of crow feathers, which she buries in the woods. The crows continue to visit, and Melody grows attached to them. One crow even enters her home, speaking to her and eating peanuts from her hand. Melody takes Buster to the vet, where she learns that his eye was removed due to an accident. She's shocked, as she doesn't remember this event. The vet assures her that Buster is comfortable and not in pain. As the nights pass, Melody's dreams become more vivid and disturbing. She sees a room full of vultures, and the crows attack them, leading to a bloody battle. The crows then guide Melody to the vulture tree, where she's taken back to a peaceful day on the farm. However, the tranquility is short-lived, as Buster's body begins to disintegrate in front of her. Melody wakes up screaming again, realizing it's midnight. She searches for Buster but finds none. With a flashlight, she ventures into the woods, accompanied by crows. They lead her to a sign that reads "HERE LIES A CROW / A STOLEN SOUL." Melody is taken back to a normal day on the farm, but the peace is short-lived. She finds black and white fur with tire marks, realizing that Buster has been killed. The story concludes with Melody screaming, surrounded by vultures circling overhead. A crow's eyes meet hers, and it says, "Denial. Tired. We are." Melody remembers, and the story ends with a grave marker: "HERE LIES BUSTER / A STOLEN SOUL / I'M SO SORRY / I'LL ALWAYS LOVE YOU, MY LITTLE BOO."

I wake up in a cold sweat.

The nightmare is still fresh in my mind.

I was walking through the woods, and I found my cat Buster lying on the ground.

He was injured, and I could tell he was in pain.

I tried to pick him up, but he wouldn’t let me touch him.

He hissed and growled at me, and I could see the fear in his eyes.

I woke up before I could find out what happened to him.

I look over at my cat, who is sleeping on the bed next to me.

He looks fine, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

I get out of bed and walk over to the window.

There’s a vulture sitting in a tree outside my house, watching me.

It’s been there every morning for the past week, ever since I started having these nightmares.

I don’t know what it means, but I can’t help but feel like it’s some kind of omen.

As I watch, a group of crows flies out of nowhere and starts attacking the vulture.

I blink and rub my eyes, but the image of the vulture doesn’t disappear.

It’s still there, watching me from the tree.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does.

I turn away from the window, but I can still feel its eyes on me.

When I close my eyes to try and go back to sleep, all I can see are the crows attacking it.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I wake up in the middle of a dream.

I’m standing in a clearing surrounded by dense woods.

I know this place—I’ve been here many times before.

But I don’t know how I got here.

I don’t remember walking through the woods, or leaving my house.

It’s as if the dream started in the middle of something else, and I just picked it up from there.

I start walking, and the dream comes back to me.

I had to find something—I just can’t remember what it was.

The trees are thick and close together, and the underbrush is tangled and overgrown.

But even in the dim light, I can see everything clearly, every leaf and branch sharply defined against the background of darkness.

The woods are completely silent, except for the sound of my footsteps on the dry leaves.

There aren’t any birds or animals, and there’s no wind to move the trees, but I feel like I’m being watched.

My heart starts to race, and I hurry to pick up my pace.

There’s a strange tranquility to the silence that surrounds me, and it’s both calming and disconcerting at the same time.

As I walk, the feeling that something is wrong grows stronger and stronger, but I still can’t remember what I’m doing here or what I’m trying to find.

I stop and look around, but all I see is more trees.

Panic bubbles up inside me, and I start running through the woods, faster and faster until I can barely breathe.

And then I wake up and realize that it was only a dream.

My heart is pounding in my chest, and I’m covered in sweat.

It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath.

When I look around, I see that my cat Buster is sleeping on the bed next to me.

He looks fine—there aren’t any cuts or scratches on him like there were in my dream.

But it feels so real that it’s hard to believe that it was only a dream.

It felt more like a memory—one that I’ve blocked out somehow.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

When I get up to go use the bathroom, I look back at Buster one more time before leaving the room.

My cat, Buster, opens one eye and looks up at me quizzically.

I know my cat looks fine.

I just checked on him before bed.

But he was hurt in my dream… wasn’t he?

I make my way back to the bathroom, but for some reason, my feet are heavy, and it takes me longer than usual.

I’m so tired, and the nightmare has left me feeling drained and disoriented.

I splash some water on my face and tell myself that it was only a dream.

But as the memory fades, I can’t help but wonder.

It felt so real, but it couldn’t have been.

I’ve been having the exact same dream every night for the past six nights.

Every time, it ends before I figure out what happened to Buster, but somehow, it feels like it’s building up to something.

I don’t know how my cat got hurt, or why he wouldn’t let me help him, but there’s something about the way he looks at me that fills me with dread.

I’ve never felt that way about Buster before, even when he’s been sick or injured.

He always knows that he can count on me to take care of him, no matter what.

But in this dream, he doesn’t seem to recognize me.

If Buster were really hurt, he would come to me for help, wouldn’t he?

And he would know who I am, right?

So why am I so scared?

I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, and that terrifies me more than anything else.

The next morning, I wake up after another restless night of sleep.

I’m so tired that my eyes feel heavy and my head hurts, but the feeling fades quickly, and I sit up in bed, looking around my room.

My cat, Buster, is sleeping on the bed next to me, his head resting on his paws, his tail twitching lazily back and forth.

He opens one eye and looks up at me, as if he knows that I’ve been watching him the whole time.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say with a smile.

Buster yawns and stretches out his front paws, and then he jumps down from the bed and walks over to his food bowl, looking back at me expectantly.

I get out of bed and follow him down the stairs to the kitchen, where I put some food in his bowl and refill his water dish.

Buster paws at the ground impatiently while he waits for me to finish, and then he digs into his food, purring contentedly.

I can still see the image of him lying on the ground in my dream, his fur matted with blood and dirt, his skin torn open and bloody in places, and one of his eyes missing.

It was so real that I could see his bones through the gashes in his skin.

That image has been burned into my mind every night for the past week, and it makes my heart race just thinking about it.

But when I look down at Buster now, he appears perfectly fine—healthy and happy and whole—and it doesn’t make any sense.

I try to tell myself that it was only a dream and that Buster is just fine.

But it doesn’t help.

Every time I close my eyes, I see those awful images flashing in front of them, and they don’t go away until I wake up again the next morning.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to forget them, or if they’ll keep coming back forever, haunting me for the rest of my life.

I go to bed early that night, but I can’t fall asleep, so I lie there for hours, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for something to happen.

It’s not long before my mind starts to drift off into sleep, and then everything goes dark.

I’m in the woods again, walking through the trees with no idea of how I got there or what I’m looking for.

I know that something terrible is going to happen, and the thought fills me with dread, but it’s too late to turn back now.

I have to keep going forward until I find what I’m looking for, even though I don’t know what it is.

This time, the dream seems more vivid and real than ever before, and it’s making my heart race with fear.

I hurry through the trees, my mind clouded with confusion and panic, and then I see him:

Buster is lying on the ground in front of me, his fur matted with blood and dirt, his skin torn open and bloody in places, and one of his eyes missing.

He growls and hisses at me, warning me to stay away, but I ignore him and run to his side, trying to help him.

I don’t know how he got hurt or what happened, but I have to do something to save him before it’s too late.

But then something changes:

Buster’s growling turns into a low, warning hiss, and his eyes flash with anger and fear.

He stands up and takes a step back from me, looking at me like he doesn’t recognize me.

And that’s when the dream changes again.

I wake up with a start, my heart pounding in my chest, and a sense of déjà vu washes over me.

It was the same dream as before—the one that has been haunting me for the past week—but this time, it was more vivid and terrifying than ever.

I look over at Buster, who is still sleeping on the bed next to me, and find that he is just fine.

He raises his head and looks at me curiously as if he knows that there is something wrong.

“Are you okay?”

I ask him as he jumps down from the bed and follows me downstairs to the kitchen.

I fill his food bowl and give him some fresh water, trying to shake off the feeling of fear that has been lingering since my dream.

Then I make myself some coffee and sit down at the kitchen table to drink it, hoping that it will help me wake up.

I take a sip of coffee—black with two sugars—and try to relax, but all I can think about is the nightmare that has been haunting me for the past week.

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