I once dreamt of a gray world.
An island stood silently in the middle of the vast ocean. In its upper right stood a lone cottage that looked like it had seen better days. Amidst the looming trees and rocks, it resembled a small, worn-down figure of a person, one laying down to rest their sore muscles and tired soul.
Looking at the shattered windows was like looking into lifeless eyes. A once vibrant soul battered by life till all its life had been drained away. Life had taken away its life.
It lay still, only making scream-like sounds when the wind blew into its broken windows. Perhaps the wind screamed for a broken soul that could no longer cry.
The island stood silently but firmly around the cottage like thick walls to keep away strangers.
It was a dream where colors disappeared, and dreams ceased to exist.
It was a dream where life had no meaning.