We all have a demon, a monster, something of a dark creature around us.
There are many types of these creatures. They tend to look the same though, darker than the pits of the deepest holes and overwhelmingly dripping of toxicity. Once they have hold of you it is very hard to to get rid of it. There are many different types of these creatures however.
Some make you feel like you’ll never feel happiness.
Some stop you from eating.
Some will pretend to let you feel happy until they let you crash and crack.
Some will make you harm...
"Goddamn it." This is what the cop said when the door first opened.
"It's not what you think. I can explain. See, we were playing a game. Hide and seek sort of thing, and things got a little out of control." He mumbled and shuffled, which the cop always took as a sign of guilt.
"Okay, we need to get him up off the floor. An ambulance is on its way. And you --" The cop pointed at the mumbler. "You need to come with me."
Mumbler shrugged and kicked at the table leg. "I didn't do anything. It was...
I tried to avoid holding the parcel knowing what it contained but had to or else it would look suspicious. I know that Tom would be eager to open the well travelled box wrapped in thick brown paper covered in butterfly stamps and tied up with old string, secured with a familiar wax seal. He would probably visualise his wife dipping the wax stick in a candle, waiting for the melting to begin, carefully dropping a few blobs in the right places, hoping to avoid burning her fingers.
Wanda of course did not put lovingly baked cakes and pies into...
Vanquished. Again.
How many times is this going to happen, just in the course of one day? How many times can you suffer defeat at the hands of your enemy? Even if that enemy is your coworker, how can you really stomach it happening over and over?
It's such a small thing, really. Who will empty the trash doesn't seem like something that could cause so much strife, but you're not going to do, and he's not going to do it, and it's just not going to get done. You keep looking up over your desk to see if it's...
Shattered.
She had always had a fondness for that word, the way it reflected the brokenness it supposedly defined, the way the consonants lined up, hard and jagged on the ears and soul. Maybe that was part of its appeal. She had always had a fondness for broken things...
She stared at the black screen before her, out of practice and rapidly running out of time as the timer quietly mocked her, accused her, with its silent countdown. Time was running out. Would she have time enough to mend the shattered peices of her soul? In the seconds that remained...
I am dancing the night away, now that I can no longer overcome the call of the ocean. She has been wanting me to join me for all my life.
I used to walk on the seaside and feel the pull of the ocean. I always know that my life would one day end in the sweet arms of the ocean. Now as I am here dancing the night away with my true love the ocean, as he left me. He who I thought loved me, but I found in the arms of another woman.
I could not hate him...
It was cold, and soulless. It was mechanical, drunken and above all else it was heartbreaking.
I couldn't beleive it when I saw him in the crowd after all these years. The proverbial one who got away. It was even less imaginable that he would be the one to reach out to hold my hand, that he would be the one to pull me into his arms just as our song began to play.
The tickets for this concert cost a fortune, I had stayed up all night just to get through on the phone. I had brought a date...
Water. Surrounded her from every direction on the huge cruise ship. She loved being out in the ocean, looking out as far as she could see and seeing nothing but water.
Her husband, on the other hand...
"Honey, please get up. Open your eyes and see!"
He shook his head, grasping tighter to his paper bag. "Shouldn't have allowed you to talk me into this...never should have listened to you."
She sighed, thinking her husband sounded so sickly and confused. Sad thing is he never threw up, loaded up on motion sickness meds weeks in advanced, and he barely felt...
She paced the living room. He would be home soon, and she had no idea how she would answer his keys in the door.
She had spent week thinking of the words, only to lose them now. Her hands were clasped as if praying were something that would work now.
"I have to do this," she thought to herself.
"I have to do this," she said to herself.
The car could be heard pulling into the driveway. A car opens. It shuts.
She freezes. Hands down at her side. She stand amongst their furniture, their pictures, their nick-knacks.
She stands...
We had to move quick. Aside from the smell of decay, and the swarms of flesh-eating bugs that harangued us at every turn, the swamp was cold, and Dr. Fjord's injury was not getting any better. I didn't like dragging her through the murky waters like this, but I didn't have a choice. I held her as far from the water's surface as possible, but I couldn't keep her out entirely. She wasn't doing much to help, though I could tell it wasn't by choice. She was barely conscious.
"How far?" I asked, my voice no more than a rasp....