B. Celestine
Bio
”There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” - Maya Angelou
Stories (2/0)
17 at Midnight
It’s 5:30 am and Anise’s body is wrapped in silk sheets, snuggled beneath a dark floral duvet. She hears the rain pattering against the large top floor windows of her family's five story brownstone. Slowly, Anise opens her eyes as a drop of water falls on her bottom lip, startling her wide awake. She looks up worried there is a leak in the roof. She quickly notices that all of the ivy covering the walls appear dewy, as if rain had fallen inside her bedroom. Anise slowly rises and climbs out of bed. She stands up facing the open window located above her favorite spot in the house. A dark quaint reading nook upholstered in velvet. Everything around her fades, almost disappearing and she hears a man humming a familiar song just outside her window. She slowly walks towards the sound, an investigation to see who could hum so softly yet thunderously at the same time. Before she can reach the open window the wind blows so hard that rain water pinches her skin. As the wind grows, so does the humming. Anise quickly reaches the reading nook and kneels on the soft velvet to close the window.
By B. Celestine 2 years ago in Fiction
Mulberry Manor
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. Melted wax along with a blood red liquid began to drip to the floor. A dark figure creeped down the stairs and slowly approached the candle. The figure dipped its thin finger into the bloody wax, and with longing, initialed the letter “M” onto the cabin window. Then there was a weak whisper from upstairs “I…am…I am…”. Before the distant voice could finish, the sun began to peak through the mulberry trees and onto the lake. As light reflected from the lake to the cabin window the candle, the figure, and whispering disappeared, leaving behind a blood red “M”.
By B. Celestine 2 years ago in Fiction