Again, basically this is the first chapter of a story I'm writing, using Sims 2 pictures. I hope you'll enjoy my writing and picture taking.

*He woke up, in what appeared to be a car. Sitting on the backseat, he had a clear view of the world outside the car. It was snowing. In front of him were a man and a woman.
“How can you stay calm like that?” she yelled. “We’re about to die!” He blinked a couple of times. Die? Where the hell am I?*

*Then he caught sight of what they were approaching.
“Look out!” he screamed. “You’re going to hit that tree!” They both ignored him.
“Well,” the man continued. “It doesn’t really matter anymore, now does it?”
“Yes it does!” he exclaimed. “We’re gonna die!”*

*Both people didn’t seem to realise he was sitting in the back of the car. Their conversation went on, but he was too much in panic to hear what they were saying. Then they drove into the tree with an amazing speed.*

“Argh!” He shoot up, clutching his chest. The cat jumped off his legs. *Just a nightmare.* A faint light fell in through the window, and lighted his room, even at this late hour. *Of course, it never gets dark in a city.*

The cat loudly meowed, urging him to get out. He got out of his bed and rearranged the sheets. He then quickly put on some clothes, and went into the living room. Turning on the lights, he saw the small room was exactly as he’d left it earlier.

He turned on the television, wondering if anything interesting had happened. Instead of the news that he’d expected to be on, some sort of soap was being broad casted. He glanced at the clock. 3:41.

His eyes fell on some files on the chair. Johnson and Mill, the tag read. He sat down and opened the file, taking out something smaller. The accounts of their deaths.

*Valentina Johnson and Alex Mill died in a car crash, as result of driving into a tree. They were fleeing from the police. Numerous-*
“Car crash,” he muttered. *Could it be?*

The cat was licking its paw, unaware of the discovery its owner just made. Coincidence, he decided. He closed the book. As he did so, a photo fell out, landing on the floor. He sat down on the floor and flipped it around. It was a picture of Johnson and Mill after the crash.

When he managed to look past the blood and burned flesh, the little that was still recognizable of their faces were uncomfortably familiar. *They’re the people from my dream.*
“Not good,” he whispered. The cat looked up and meowed.