Would you like to know little something about my world? Quite interesting, really. You see, it used to be nice and sweet, young innocence polluting the air and lungs like and ungodly drenched rag of chloroform held to face. Sickeningly sweet. But that all changed my, dear. The skies started to become tainted with the blood red of pain. Sorrow and depression blanketed the green of the fields with it's grey ash, killing the purity lying therein. The waters turned murky with the putrid green of illness and paranoia, washing up on the shores of tranquility and burning it with it's acidic kiss. The lovely fruits and flora that gave the land it's sickening innocence died when the pollution of death reaped it's prize crop and leaving nothing in it's wake but the thistles and thorns called anger and hatred. Then the first foreigners came. I personally prefer to call the reality, for they seemed so harsh and demanding. Always beating you down with their words of destruction, leaving any hope you once had as shards at your feet. So after reality struck, slaughtering the weaker of the populi in this world, they next generations began to try and reclaim their land with new tools. Tools such as lying and false hopes; dreams. Ah, dreams. Such lovely little things. They retained the innocence of the past, something that could never be reclaimed but was hopelessly lost in minds of foolish. The great towers of strength were rebuilt unknowingly on the shaking sands of doubt, and the populi believed that they had done right and the world would live again. Then the second foreigners to the land, the reapers and bleeders, arrived on the shores in their vessels, ready to claims a new prize. Slowly, but oh so dreadfully steady did they chip at the lands with their words. Words that were meant to hurt as a steel blade ripping out the heart, leaving even the strongest and most confident of them in tears, begging and bargaining with death to take them to what they believed would be a happier place. The reapers and bleeders chipped...and chipped...and chipped...until they had raped the world of all it had. Except for one thing. It's dreams. The dreams lived on, passing over the carcasses and ashes of nothingness, quickly lifting them up and sending them away to a better place in a steady flow, that of blood leaving the veins. And even when all that, all the matter of this once beautiful and charming world, had gone, the dreams remained until the already marred and pale skin had turned blue. They remained until death, with his thin, bony fingers and his sin laden lips drank them up from the world with it's cold, hollow and emotionless soul. And when the last dream had left the world, the last breath was drawn and released, and the world faded from existence...