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Sunday Morning by missxscissorhands, literature
Literature
Sunday Morning
I never truly believed in much. The little faith I had in anything was melted, stuck like candle wax at the bottom of a vial, under snake venom. It was hard to see much of light. What shine I noticed was slit through naked trees, crooked hands, reaching up to a crested moon. I saw it and even swore by it. The only hope I ever had sat too high above me to touch, too hard to reach to cover the venom with. It would have lasted, probably. That is, if the big bads would stop trampling over my heart, my spine and cracking open my little vial of faith, losing it somewhere in the lake they leave me in. It's hard to tell blood from poison from need fr
Strangers In the Night by chillaxxen, literature
Literature
Strangers In the Night
"These noises, these noises, these terrible noises! I swear they aim to drive me mad. I lay here in the dark every night and I hear them, the sound of scratching under my bed, of movement in the walls, of footsteps above my head. Do you not hear it? Do you not hear it now?" Nadia looked at me, her face full of convincing terror. We were all alone in this room, in the dark, her face lit only by the faint flickering of a candle that stood alone in the corner.
I strained my ears to try and hear what she heard, but there was nothing there. "Nadia it's just the wind, or maybe a rodent in the attic. I'm sure there's nothing as terrible as you are
