Lovers In A Storm- Written by Scarecrow and his Dark Angel

A bustling hallway, people all around. we walk towards each other, and I pick you up and hold you in a mutual embrace. The hallway blurs when I spin you, and our surroundings become a breezy meadow. You hug me and curl your fingers, and I hold you to me. The air smells of snow and white clouds begin to overtake the sun. As it begins to snow, we stare at each other and kiss. At that moment, there is a flash and all is dark. The wind is now whipping and screaming, thunder is heard from a rumbling distance as a torrent of rain falls to us. You pull me close, attempting to keep me dry. We are soaked and realize the rain won't kill us. You take my hand, and we run through the storm, farther away from it, but we are unable to escape its unending walls. We run over a hill and hide there from the wind. I hold you tight as the storm worsens, the rain falling denser and harder, the lightening closer and more frequent, the thunder booming above us and overlapping. We hold each other tight and close our eyes, and suddenly the storm and meadow are gone. You kiss my forehead and offer to help me up. We survived. We look and see a bustling hallway of people, eager to get nowhere, but taking time to glance at us, a pair of lovers caught in a storm. As we stand together the people become grey silhouettes, and we are the only real things in a world of fallacy. We ignore them and their lies. They point and notice us as we stand with colour. We don't care, we only see each other. And where does this go? We know it not, and neither do we care. We hold each other. A man passes by. He is neither grey nor coloured. He places paint next to us and asks us a favor. We agree. You paint the sky black and dot is with stars. I paint the world as it truly is with a chaotic, erratic order. The people take notice. They gnash their teeth, pull their hair, scream that it cannot be true, but they know it is and thus our duty is fulfilled. Bored by their anger we leave, your small hand warm within my melting grip. We seek what has yet to be found.