urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:indreams ☁ янσ∂є ☂ кαмєℓσт ♪ ☁ янσ∂є ☂ кαмєℓσт ♪ 2011-08-07T02:46:57Z urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:indreams:519 2011-08-07T02:46:16Z 2011-08-07T02:46:57Z <center><font face="garamond" size="7">YOU ARE NOW DRUNK.<font><br /><br /><img src="http://www.drinkoftheweek.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/Cosmo.jpg"><br /><br /><font face="verdana" size="1">Carry on.</font></font></font></center> urn:lj:scribbld.com:atom1:indreams:398 2011-08-06T03:28:27Z 2011-08-06T03:28:27Z <i>As far as the eye can see, there is a vast, endless wheat field. The golden stalks ripple in a gentle breeze as if a burnished sea, carrying carrying with it the scent of saltwater and sand. In the far distance - just beyond the trees over yonder - there is the sound of crashing waves just under that of crying gulls.<br /><br />A dirt path crosses the center of the field, passing a tree. The tree itself is gnarled, warped, and looks like something that threatens to fall over at even the slightest of breezes. Yet, it bares the sweetest-smelling peaches that could ever be imagined...<br /><br />... or dreamed. This is a dream, can't you tell...?...<br /><br />... or maybe it isn't...<br /><br />... a wooden panel strung between two pieces of rope dangle from one of the tree's branches; a crude swing. It sways back and forth in the breeze.<br /><br />To the North, there is the sound of crashing waves. To the South, a mountain range. <br /><br />Where will you go?</i>