Leaves drifted down softly, scattering in the wind, and landed delicately on the large lake that Bertholdt believed to be the ocean. Light trickled from one point on the horizon, spattering the clouds in fiery colors and turning the sky a buoyant pink. He looked around, incredulous of the peace and beauty surrounding him, so unlike that which he was used to. Even as he thought that, the sky morphed into a bloody maroon and waves began crashing with abandon on the pale sand shore, the leaves blowing, reminding him of people rushing in panic away from that which killed them with no thought. Explosively loud footsteps rumbled his chest, and suddenly he was in the city, breathing in the sickly sweet smell of burning flesh, and hearing the wails of those being eaten, or those watching. He couldn't tell the difference any more.
He gasped, sitting up and almost hitting his head on the top bunk, emerald eyes wide and sparkling with unshed tears. A drop of sweat trickled down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose, glittering on the tip for a moment before dropping onto his blanket covered lap and creating a splotch of dark cloth, barely visible in the dim light. A sudden snore from the top bunk made him jump, his eyes getting impossibly wider before the shock wore off and he began laughing quietly so as not to wake his room mates. He had been having the same dream repeatedly, and it was still just as terrifying as the first time it happened. It was almost as terrifying as when he had looked down on the exact scene, on a skinless foot slamming into Wall Maria, the feeling of instant regret and pain that he was part of their plan, and that his friends and he would more than likely be executed for it if they were found out. He lay down, eyes wide yet again and sweat once more dribbling down his face and neck. Again, he was at the ocean with no choice but to see the dream through over again until morning.