“You’re in love with Felix and I’m in love with Claude and yet we see more of each other than the two of them combined.”
“We’re pretty compatible, in some alternate universe we’d be good for each other, just not this one.”
“You’re in love with Felix and I’m in love with Claude and yet we see more of each other than the two of them combined.”
“We’re pretty compatible, in some alternate universe we’d be good for each other, just not this one.”
Ho fatto un sacco di stronzate nella mia vita, ma la più grande, è stata perderti.
Con tutti i tuoi difetti, che sono altamente insopportabili, io ti amavo. Amavo il tuo sguardo dolce, e il sorriso che ti si accendeva quando mi vedevi. Amavo il modo in cui mi sentivo quando ero insime a te. Amavo il modo in cui mi facevi sentire protetta. Amavo ridere insieme, fare gli idioti. Amavo quando mi facevi incazzare. Amavo il modo in cui poi facevamo la pace, era il nostro modo. Amavo il modo in cui riuscivi a farmi capire i tuoi sentimenti, anche senza dirmi nulla, solo con uno sguardo. Amavo il tuo profumo. Amavo il tuo modo di parlarmi. Amavo il fatto che sapessi come prendermi. Amavo il fatto che fossimo così diversi, eppure ci completavamo. Amavo ogni cosa. Amavo te. Amavo ogni cosa che riguardasse te. Amavo essere amata da te.
Mi manca tutti questo cazzo. Tutte queste cose che non sentivo più, e che fa così male ricordare. Persino adesso potrei amare questa tristezza che sento, solo perché riguarda te. Fa così male non riesco a darmene pace. Ogni sera mi addormento pensando a te. Ogni mattina mi sveglio pensando a te. Penso a te ogni minuto della mia giornata.
Penso a quante cose ho sbagliato. A quante cose abbiamo sbagliato…
Mi sento così in colpa.
Se non fosse per questa continua tristezza e per questa nostolgia, penserei di essere morta. Non sento più niente oltre queste cose.
Mi manca la nostra complicità. Era la nostra. Mia e tua. Non esisterà mai più una complicità più bella sul pianeta. Noi eravamo perfetti insieme. Ci completavamo. Non mi do pace del fatto che sia finito tutto. Vorrei tornare indietro nel tempo e capire cosa ho sbagliato e cancellare tutto. Mi manca la vecchia me. Mi manca la me che era felice insieme a te.
Hai fatto bene da tagliarmi. Un'altra volta, hai fatto quello che io non sarei mai riuscita a fare.
Scusa per questo. Volevo soltanto farti entrare un attimo nella mia testa. Questo è quello che sento e che non sono mai riuscita a dirti.
Fa schifo vedere quanto siamo cambiati. Mi fa schifo vedere quanto io sia cambiata. E la cosa che mi fa stare ancora peggio, è sapere che non farò mai più parte della tua vita…mi uccide dentro…
Ti porterò sempre dentro di me, in ogni istante, dal 2013.
“15 years later than I thought, but I’m finally leaving this forsaken continent”
A fond smile, “Its been a lot of work but I have to let go sooner or later or I’ll be here for life, and now’s a good time.”
One eye closed they smile mischievously up at Sylvain, “I leave Faerghus in your hands. Play nice with the others okay?”
“You know I’m the type to always plan ahead, have contingency plans upon contingency plans.”
“The path ahead of me has always been clear. Even if I may jump from one track to another, there has always been a track laid out before me.”
“What a strange feeling it is to be coming to the end of this track and not having another one already prepared. A wide expanse before me.”
6 year old me. I can barely remember what I was like. Just mother and me in an old, creepy house. I only recall one memory that still haunts me today.
The screams. The awful screams woke me up. I think I was dreaming about my Buzz Lightyear action figure when I ran across the hall to mother. Her eyes wide as dinner plates, she whispered these exact words to me that I will never forget.
“Kid, when you can’t sleep at night, it’s when you’re being watched.”
I still see that man’s face whenever I’m in the woods…
20 years later today, I still lay awake at 1:00am, unable to sleep. Mother’s voice fills my mind. Chills are sent down my spine as I search through my whole house, look out every window to find that man.
The cops appeared at my door and assured me that the closest person was 10 miles away.
I whip my blade out.
He is now on the floor. Spilling his guts.
I can’t help but laugh maniacally as I twist my head and say,
“The voices! They told me to!”
As my surroundings fade around me to the asylum I am being held in, I remember.
I was an orphan when I was 6.
There was no man.
I never called the cops.
Why do I remember this?
It was the voices.submitted by /u/dannyboi1178
Quarantine began two hours ago, and I can already feel their presence.
They know I’m alone, you see. They’ve always had that power, that ability, to know when I’ve shut myself away. It’s as if they can smell my tears.
But being alone isn’t up to me. Normally, I hide from the world when I’m overwhelmed, frustrated, or scared — and don’t get me wrong, I’m all of these things. The threat of a pandemic does that to a person.
The difference now is that I’m not running by choice. I am not weak. I can stand on my own, and I can fight.
BANG BANG BANG BANG
“Hannah, open the damn door!”
“We know you’re in there!”
Hearing them scream forces adrenaline through my veins, but there is no fear. Not this time. I’ve cowered at their words, mouths, eyes, for too long.
My hand grips the doorknob as I hold back a cough. I’m ready to fight.
“I swear to God, if you don’t—“
Time seems to slow as I pull the door open and unleash a hailstorm of hacking and sneezing into the wrinkled, angry faces of my parents. They shriek when I shove my hands toward every piece of exposed skin I can, but the sound barely registers to me. Through my fever, all I can think about is getting revenge on the man and woman who have made my life hell, and how finally, soon…
…I will truly be alone.submitted by /u/indiego1314
I’ve sat in this room for an eternity. No wind to pass me by, whispering soft nothings into my ears. No sun to warm my skin, a mother’s caress. There’s nothing. Just this chair I’ve sat in, the 4 walls that surround me, and the darkness that consumes it all.
There was a door on the wall facing me at one time. That was long ago, though; no, even longer. It may have been before you arrived, it would seem. Black, with a clear glass knob. The most translucent glass I’d ever seen, like the water on Panama Beach. Lastly, a window. And behind that window was the brightest white void. I’m not sure if it was natural or artificial, to be honest.
I still think of the water at times. Usually in times where the silence becomes too loud. I think of the ebb and flow of the waves, of what horrible things could be in the darkness at the bottom. Would they be large or small? Would they be hideous, putrid and abhorrent, or would they look just like us? I don’t even remember what I look like anymore. I feel a face, two eyes, a nose, my mouth. It’s all there along with my body that I can see. Yet, I have no recollection of my reflection.
There’s just always been a need for me to move. I cannot explain what drives me to do so, but I must. Pace and pace and pace again. Back and forth, round and round, yet I never tire. I never sleep, and as a result I never dream, though there are no dreams to be had here. Not anymore.
I’ve stared at the spot where the door used to be for more time than I’d care to admit. Not in the sense of missing an exit, just that I miss something. Something more than the nothingness here. With the door gone, along the light went with it. But now, I can see the faintest hint of something pouring through the darkness on that wall. Softly, ever so softly, piercing through four points that made out the corners of the doorframe.
Now it’s started. The undulating. Something behind those points has started moving. I can hear the deep bellows of scraping, something dragging God knows what along the wall. The light flickers periodically as whatever the thing is passes in front of the points. I’m not sure whether to be scared, or to be relieved. Where there previously was nothing, now there is *something.
Finally, it spoke.
I pondered the question, echoing around the room and reverberating in each ear like a chorus of voices.
It spoke again, yet this time the voice didn’t come from the other side of the wall. It came from inside my head.
I placed my hands over my ears, trying to muffle the voice and the sounds from beyond my cage. They only grew louder. Rising and rising into a cacophony of cerebral assailants beating on the inner walls of my skull.
Until finally, everything stopped.
The noise had ceased. The voices had retreated somewhere back into the void. I was alone again, with only my chair to keep me company. In a panic, I hurled it at the wall. Upon striking it, a small piece of the wall crumbled along the top right point where the light shone through. Slowly, I walked over to it, inspecting it in my hands. The white paint along my side was cold, but the side that would be facing the light… Was warm. The warmth, to my surprise, faded quickly.
I wish I’d not let my curiosity get the best of me. I wish I could tell you I’d taken my place back in the center of the room. But, I can’t. To the behest of my own thoughts not to, I’d looked up, into the hole that had formed. Light did not shine through it. Beyond, there was only darkness. Confused, I dropped the refuse in my hand to the ground, but as soon as it clattered to the ground, the lights shifted. One by one, each corner went dark. I could see a brightness slowly creeping to the edge of the new hole, growing brighter and brighter. The slithering and scraping began again, only this time from all four walls, above, and below.
I sank to my knees in the sight of it all. The walls began to crack around me, paint chipping and pieces of it falling to the floor. The rumble just got louder and louder, deafening again.
The voice came from inside and out this time.
I can see it now.
Something is undulating behind it.
It’s inside.submitted by /u/possuminatrenchcoat
It wasn’t that long ago I looked upon Wanderers with disgust. They had been the scum of the earth. Rejects. Scavengers. Ultimate leeches of our world. And now that I saw them again I couldn’t even muster half a teaspoon of hate. I was invaded by an overall sense of weariness. I saw my neighbour, a tall large man yell at them, face contorted out of human shape. He had mastered the hate. And he looked ridiculous for it. I wanted to get out of here. I didn’t care about those sad parades of men and women in chains. I couldn’t join the euphoria of the crowd. The woman on my other side spat at them. I shrugged and pulled my scarf closer to my neck. It hadn’t been my intention to be here at all. I’d been caught by the tide and had no way of going against the general flow.
Why would you exhibit people like that? Strip them of their humanity, and then execute them in front of the angry, hateful crowd. There were three executioners on stage. Each one of them had a speciality. Each one of them had a nickname. There was the Axe, the Flute, and Iron Hand. All were dressed in uniform black robes, face hidden by the traditional hood. They were only differentiated by a personal insignia printed chest level. Everyone knew that the job of executioner was passed down from generation to generation. The families kept their anonymity, but were given an emblem. Some people wondered if executioners were human at all. The unconscious collective fear being that they were eternal monsters always there to take human lives. Masses were so gullible.
The streams of captives were Wanderers. Not even real criminals. Wanderers’ only wrongdoing was of adhering to different ideals to ours. I would have been publicly stoned for saying such a blasphemy. Well, only if I hadn’t been untouchable.
The crowd started to chant for their hero: the Carver. Except he wasn’t here. This was no surprise. He specialised in violent criminals. He was feared and revered at the same time. His name enough to delightfully chill a crowd. They were terrorised by the shear idea of ending up in his tender care, and at the same time they relished in the blood he spilled. Because he was no ordinary executioner. In fact executioners were rarely ordinary.
The Flute had a beautiful talent. All his family had had the gift of music. He could possess people with his instruments. Make them dance until they died of exhaustion. He transformed human tragedy into an ultimate artistic sacrifice. His dances were extravagant, captivating and ultimately very deadly. Iron Hand was an obtuse brut next to him. But that butcher was a real crowd pleaser. He had the power of strength. His delicate attentions consisted in pulverising captives and unashamedly spraying the crowd. Nothing much ever remained after he had taken care of it. The Axe was more traditional. Not all executioner blood lines were consistent in power. Axe chopped heads, not always managing the clean one strike decapitation. But that was part of the thrill. People took odds. Exchanging money on whether he would or wouldn’t this time.
Only then did I realise I would have to watch the whole show. I grimaced. What a waste of time! Today was my first day off after five months of training and work. It had taken me three hours to get down here. I hadn’t intended to spend my time like that. I’d wanted to go back home. See my mother, brother and sisters again. I only had a few hours to spare. After that I had to go back to the castle. I sighed. This promised to be excruciating. Unless I could spot a member of my family. Then, at least, their company would support me through this ordeal. But it was packed and hard to see any individuals. I massaged my head. I could feel the headache rising. Then I saw a glimpse of white. Across from me, on the other side of the fenced prisoner passage, was someone wearing a scarf matching mine. I didn’t have to see it from close up to know it was the same wool. This had to be my younger sister. She had sent that one for me during my absence, telling me she was wearing its twin. Only my family made wool so fine. Except she was on the other side. And I’d probably changed since the last time she’d seen me. I’d grown thinner, taller, whiter, hollower. In a way the crowd wasn’t too bad. They kept us warm, heat rising off them like a good herd.
I raised myself on my toes, making ridiculously large arm movements. I didn’t care if people stared. It would only increase my chances of Illiotrope seeing me. Finally, I caught her eye. She had been mesmerised by the execution scene. Three men had already lost their heads, five women were dancing and something was in the process of being turned into crimson mush. But amongst the butchery, someone had been kind enough to let her know a young man was trying to get her attention. She squinted at first. I must have changed more than I thought. But then her face opened in a smile. She waved at me and got closer to the barrier. We looked at each other from across the fence for a while. This was absurd. I was so close!
A burst of bloodshed slashed my mind. It was a violent thought bubble. The big man next to me trembled and an enchanted smile settled on his lips, he didn’t realise a bloody slash had opened on his face. The other people huddled against me shivered. We had all felt it. I saw the ripple of anticipation run through the crowd. They started to yell out for the Carver again. They had recognised his touch. He had to be somewhere around here. They wanted him on stage. After his absence from the scene they were elated by his recent return and wanted him everywhere. The Carver was ferocious. He peeled his victim’s minds apart, projecting the visions of carnage he found in their heads to the whole crowd. As the visions occurred the prisoner would find himself covered with the wounds he had once inflicted on others. Without touching the perpetrator, the Carver managed to hurt them more profoundly then any meaningless violence would have. But Wanderers were innocents. The Carver couldn’t do anything to them.
I finally decided to jump the fence. Another stupid law I saw no reason to obey, I wasn’t a parked sheep. And I believed I had a fair chance of being overlooked anyway, people were too absorbed in the action, law apprehenders just as enthralled. I got my first leg over the barrier. Illiotrope gaped. She backed up a little and shook her head. She didn’t want me to risk my freedom for something so… so brainless. I swang the second leg over and started crossing.
Suddenly a big hand dropped on my shoulder. I turned. It belonged to a massive sheriff. He was enormous in every way and direction. His face was lumpy, as if he’d been hit many times. A smaller official came to my other side. He wore a nasty smile. My face was blank. I let him pull my sleeves up so as to cuff my hands with a magic deadener, just in case. I watched his face grow grey before he even pulled the deadener out of his pocket, as he recognised the symbol on my wrist. I watched him back away from me. The big one understood fast. He swallowed noisily, but grabbed me by the collar of my coat and lifted me over the last fence. He dropped me exactly where I wanted to be. Illiotrope stared.
‘How did you get away?’ She yelled so I would hear over the crowd.
‘They recognised I worked for the king.’ I shrugged.
‘I’m so happy to see you!’ She finally exclaimed, before throwing herself in my arms.
‘Let’s go home.’
She nodded. And strangely enough we were able to walk away. People mustn’t have been as oblivious as I thought, or perhaps they were just street wise. They parted like the seas for prophets. The streets were smaller than I remembered, darker too. Perhaps spending most of my time in small enclosed spaces had made me unrealistically brighten my previous life. Once we passed the crowd, the streets were deserted. Everyone always went to executions. They were free entertainment and they occurred once a week in this part of town. The sound of whatever Illiotrope had on her feet reverberated happily against the uneven pavement. The fabric of her skirts sighed. Her coat clapped in the wind. And her breathing was loud. As noisy as she was, I made no sound.
‘Don’t you talk anymore?’ She asked.
I forced myself to smile.
‘You look like father.’ She said with a grimace, ‘you sound like father.’ She added, ‘Is it the archives which turn men into sad shadows?’
‘You should not foul mouth the dead.’
When our father had died six month ago a message had been sent from the court. It read that I was duty bound to inherit my father’s position by the king’s side. I would be trained, and I would become a Guardian of the Arcane. My mother had cried – a second separation was painful. My sisters had been proud; the position was well remunerated and had a special social status. My younger brother, Ernst, had felt relieved. He had always been afraid he would inherit that intellectual role because I was so little interested in old paper. Everyone believed the arcane to be the king’s secret archives. But it was me they wanted, not him. Ernst was now free to become the merchant he had always wanted to be. And I was officially a Guardian, proudly wearing the emblems of the position on my wrist.
We arrived in Glory Street. Our house was the twelfth on the left. Like the others it was made of dark stones, unlike the others it had a shop front advertising the softest wool. We walked through the door and the bell chimed. Delellia, my elder sister, tentatively came down the stairs to look after the prospective customer. Her eyes opened wide when she saw me.
‘Lelio!’ She cried out before running to me herself, ‘You’ve become so pale.’
Delellia had the gift of dream-weaving and a fertile imagination. As such she worked for a number of rich merchants. She would send them lovely illusions and forbidden fantasies during their nights, awake all that time. She was so good, a number of courtesans had already asked for her services. Soon she would move closer to the castle and work for a more sophisticated audience. Because of this exhausting profession, she was usually relieved from shop duty, it was Illiotrope’s responsibility. Illiotrope, like my mother, was exceedingly good at needlework. But this was her day off, execution day was an institution.
‘Lelio’s home!’ Illiotrope called out to my mother upstairs. I heard shuffling. And then there was the distinct sound of two people getting down the stairs. My mother appeared first, her hair whiter than I remembered. Behind her was Ernst. Like me he’d grown, but while I’d become pale, he now bore a dark tan. In the last missive I’d received, I’d been informed he was conducting all the trade for our family shop, travelling the countryside in search of wool and pigments.
‘How’s the arcane?’ My brother asked.
‘Still as secretive, and I’m still under the same imperatives of silence.’
‘Just like your father.’ My mother said, ‘God rest his soul.’
She took my head in her hands and kissed my forehead.
‘You look tired my son.’
I was exhausted. It would be lunchtime soon. My mother and Illiotrope disappeared towards the kitchen. I sat heavily at the head of the table. Delellia sat next to me. She had blue shadows under her eyes and an ethereal air about herself… growing into a creature of the night. Ernst settled himself down opposite from me.
‘What good are your powers for the archives?’ Delellia asked. She had always been able to tell when I used my gift, part of her second sight. ‘You are straining yourself.’
‘I’m training, I’m getting better everyday.’
‘But surely you do not need them for reading!’ Ernst cut in.
This was another reason why he thought he, rather than I, would be going to the king. It was considered criminal to waste powers, and I had shown great potential very early.
‘The arcane might not be what everyone thinks it is.’ I answered.
Ernst’s brow shot up. I realised I might have made a mistake. Delellia didn’t blink. The question Ernst was going to ask was prevented by the exuberant appearance of Illiotrope. Mother followed and lunch was brought in by the kitchen hand. From then on we avoided talking about my work. We talked about my brother’s and sisters’ lives, the latest rumours at court, the latest news in town… The afternoon slipped away and soon night’s belly stretched above our heads. I got up. I had to go. I would be required at dawn.
My mother’s smile wilted as I kissed her goodbye. I promised that had been my longest absence. I was now fully trained, but I belonged to a low rank – I was still new. I was allowed a free day a week from now on though. I would therefore come back next week. She nodded. In a few years I wouldn’t be at the beck and call of the ministers and then I would be able to settle in my own house away from the castle.
‘Why didn’t you come on a horse?’ Illiotrope asked.
‘Where is it? Why didn’t you show me!’
‘There were too many people. I left it at the Inn up the furthest stoop. They have a stable.’ I said.
‘I’ll walk you.’ Delellia announced.
I looked at her, surprised.
‘It is not safe for a woman to walk those parts of town without an escort.’ I reminded her.
‘I’ll only be alone on the way back.’ She said.
‘And you’d have to be insane to attack a dream-weaver!’ Ernst interrupted. ‘Imagine the nightmares you’d get.’ He shuddered.
‘It’s not written on her forehead what she is.’ I said.
‘I’ll take my chances.’ She shrugged, pulling on a coat looking too heavy for her fragile frame.
I’d heard the determination.
‘I’ve got to talk to you.’ She added.
She wanted to talk… I’d known she would not be as blind as the others. I held the door open for her to follow me into darkness. We took our first steps in silence. I looked at the ink sky. Full moon. Delellia would be busy tonight.
‘Are you happy Lelio?’ She asked.
I hadn’t expected the question. I wasn’t sure how to answer it. But she continued.
‘I never told anyone about it,’ she said, ‘but once, I walked into one of father’s dreams. I was young then. I didn’t have much control.’
My blood went cold. I wrapped my coat closer to me. But its warmth wasn’t enough anymore.
‘I believe I know what you do at the arcane.’ She said.
I turned to look at her. She was probably the person I was closest to. I had been so afraid of her discovering, of her judging me. And here she knew. Would she hate me? Would she reject me? Would she be disappointed or frightened? But she held no judgment, no accusation. Not even curiosity. She knew. I suppressed a shudder.
We had arrived at the inn. We waited in the stable while the boy saddled my horse. I found it hard to hold Delellia’s gaze. She saw me for what I was: a slave to my powers. I had hoped for a trace of admiration. This was discounting the fact she did not have the barbaric taste of our fellow men. And the fact that she knew what it was to be overworked and thrown against your will into terrifying universes. I clenched my teeth. I was getting ready to swing on my horse and leave but she hugged me. I was breathing again.
‘You do a good job.’ She whispered and I heard she was crying. ‘Don’t you ever feel our lives would be so much easier if we didn’t have power?’ She asked.
‘Perhaps for you,’ I smiled, ‘You would spend your day in the shop with mother and Illiotrope. You wouldn’t have to witness other’s nightmares. But I would still have been called to the king. And I would have had to learn to use an axe.’
‘At least now I have a kind of notoriety.’ I said.
‘The Carver.’ She murmured so low I almost didn’t hear.
This time I did mount my horse. Delellia took a step back. She would be fine tonight. I’d discreetly payed the boy to make sure she got home safe. I’d made certain he saw my wrist.
‘I’ll be back soon.’ I told her. She knew.
She waved, even exhausted, as I galloped away. Away to the under castle and the donjons. Away to the prisoners. Away to the condemned. But ultimately not that far. She knew I came back regularly under my black robes and hood. She knew that each time the Carver was on stage she would see me – be closer to me. And she alone shared my secret.
Thank you for reading it until the end. I’d love to know what you think about it. This short story unexpectedly gave me an idea for a whole novel, but I’m not sure if anyone but me want to see more of Lelio and Delellia.submitted by /u/Lupin21
For as long as I could remember, the world was dark. Colors and light were meaningless to me. Blindness was something I have had to live with since birth and it had become an inherent part of who I was growing up. So, when they told me that there was a ‘cure’, a way that my eyes could finally be of use to me, I was cynical. I was comfortable with how life was; there was no need for any fixing to be done. And yet when my parents pleaded desperately with me, I caved. I knew they only wanted the best for me.
The procedure was relatively painless, although sitting awake for 8 hours, while a couple of specialists poked at my eyes, was uncomfortable to say the least. The surgical room was a tight space – the echoes came back much faster than I had expected. I could feel the heat of the bodies shifting purposefully around me, maybe five… no, six of them, all carrying out their individual roles. By the third hour, I had learnt to tune out the clicking and clanking and clacking of the tools they used. When they finally wrapped the bandages over my eyes and wheeled me back to the comforts of my ward, I slept a dreamless sleep.
I was awoken by a tingling aura. It brushed along my face warmly, but it was not my skin I was sensing it with. My head throbbed.
Could this be light?
I prodded my face with my hands and found that the bandages had already been removed. I cautiously parted my eyelids, allowing the magnificence of what I had been deprived of to flood into my irises.
I could see.
I gently wiped at the twin rivers that had carved their way around the curves of my cheeks. The headache persisted and intensified, but I was too eager to stop. When my eyes fully opened, I expected to take in the beauty of the world described to me so many times before. But what I was met with were two hands. My hands. The skin was pulled taunt along the bones and its shape was what I would expect of it.
But the wrinkles…
Those sickening crevices and valleys that lined the entirely of my skin, they snaked and meandered slyly, invading repulsively into every corner. I turn my hands in anxious disgust, trying to find somewhere that wasn’t covered by these subtle grotesque scars. Nausea overwhelmed me as I realized that, contrary to what I had felt before, there was not a single smooth and unblemished spot on the surface of my being.
By the time the nurses came to clean up the vomit, my eyes were closed again. I now live in a constant state of nausea, revolted by everything that surrounded me. I have chosen not to touch any surfaces unless absolutely necessary, even… no, especially my own skin. The world is indeed an ugly place to live in.submitted by /u/Jonthough17
My friend was a 7 year old boy, just like me. We would visit each other when my mom said I could. He was always so funny. We would had a little treehouse in the woods, and we would go there and talk about what was happening in our homes.
One sunny day, when I wanted to visit my friend, he would say that he can’t come now, since his mom and dad are fighting. I was fine with it, since my mom and dad are fighting too.
Once or twice, he would not pick up the phone, and I was starting to get worried for him. He was always a funny guy, who would share his chocolate bar with me when we would play.
Then, I tried to call him on my dad’s phone, since I don’t have one yet. He didn’t answer. I tried calling again. Still no answer.
I decided to visit him later, since he was my friend, and the only friend I had.
Finally, he visited me. We met again at the park, and he was sitting there all alone. When I met him, he had a bruise on his eye, and some red marks on hjs limbs.
I tried to ask what happened to him, but he wouldn’t say anything. He would say that he was fine, and that nothing was wrong.
I tried to believe him, but something wasn’t right.
That night, I snuck out of my house, trying to see what happened to him. We lived in the same neighbourhood, so I just went a few streets down and found his house.
I went to a lit window, and found what seemed to be Alex’s room. I tried to go inside, but the window was locked. Then, Alex went into his room, covered in bruises. I hid in the bushes, and I heard soft whimpers in his room.
I then saw that he was holding a small knife, then he stabbed his chest.submitted by /u/phone_user1243
After a night of bad news, the party wakes up the next morning discouraged, but prepared to march across Thedas to rid themselves the vile demon locked away behind their souls.
With at most a month before the demon returns, they bid farewell to Leliana and make their way northward, deciding to travel by boat to Nevarra where they hope to find the Iora woman Cas mentioned.
After six long hours of walking, the group is finally forced to rest for the night. Seeking shelter, they enter into Caer Bronach Keep. The bad omen many of the party members sense quickly bears true as they are ambushed by bandits hiding within the keep. Instead of fighting, they choose to flee, voting to instead camp out in the wooded area nearby. However, Ashaad is soon surprised during his night watch by two bandits sneaking towards them under the shelter of darkness. He quickly wakes the others and Ledger takes the first action of violence by shooting an arrow through the leaves.
After defeating the two invaders, they seek vengeance against the rest of the bandits and plan an assault. The three ranged party members, Knicki, Ledger, Mag, accompanied by their warrior defender Justinia, once again approach the intimidating front gate. In a loud war cry, Ledger called for the attention of the remaining bandits. Meanwhile, using makeshift climbing robes they made using vegetation, Ashaad and Clay scale the walls of the keep and approach the enemies from behind. When the bandits did not peruse the yell, the front-line charged in, drawing the fire of the archers. The opening allows Ashaad and Clay to assault their targets, pushing them off the ramparts they stood upon. Soon, the fight ended in the protagonists’ favor and Caer Bronach Keep is reclaimed. As the party seeks out places to rest, Knicki’s fortune reveals a Maestashear War Axe, an excellent prize.
To discourage any others from attacking, Ashaad and Knicki display the corpses of their fallen foes at the two entrances, deterring any sane individual from approaching. Finally with a safe place to rest, the party members enjoy a night of blissful rest, sleeping well into the next day.
This is about a story that I have in mind that hasn’t been made yet “ The Purge”.
This is the main character of it.
Next is her frenemy.
Now we have non relevant art of my OC’s from my journal. There are many more.
In my Story of Tainted Memory these girls will be the love interest for the main character Leo. Credit to PandaGrowlSama , CherryCupcakePixels, Katsu-bases, Star4Base on deviant art, and animelover876 on Pinterest. Thanks for the bases! 😸 The following girls names and status go in this order: Basho member of The cooking club, Sawako member of The Bible club, Rika member of the swimming club, Yuri member of The dance club, and Tamiko member of The gaming club.
Sam: What do I tell him now?
Xena: Why don’t you tell him you haven’t cooked in four days, and in return I haven’t bathed in four days.
Xena stops at the door of the trailer: Mommy, wait! I don’t have to, only a fart came out.
Sam: Great, you hear the car? Here comes Daddy, he’s gonna be mad!
do not edit
_dong_ii’s ig story update
Xena almost crying: I don´t lie…I’ll go ahead!
Xena: I have to go poo-poo.
Sam: WHAAAT? Don’t you dare lie to me! I’ll flip out!
Xena: Why are you so stinky, I said I want Daddy to bathe me.
Sam: You´re the one who is stinky so stop crying now!
Sam: Xena, please! I’ve hardly eaten in a few days, I’m even too done to yell at you, please come now.
Xena: I don´t care, Daddy will bathe me later, when he comes home.
Sam: Daddy will be angry if you´re that dirty. Come on…