Megan Riches
Stories (7/0)
Her
I could tell I was dreaming because I saw her face. That’s the only place I get to see her now, in dreams. Her golden hair bounced around her face so I couldn’t make it out clearly, the locks of waves covering the intricate beauty she held. Her arms were stretched out as she danced around the field we used to share our Sundays with. She was wearing her wedding dress. Another sign this wasn’t real. The ivory lace swayed around her delicate figure as she spun.
By Megan Riches2 years ago in Fiction
The Eyes
There were many summers, before the last, that were flush with happy moments. No one knows why the fateful summer of 68’ at Cedar Hill ended so badly. The world at that point was twisted in many ways. Martin Luther King was assassinated. As well as Bobby Kennedy. The food yield wasn't keeping up to the population boom and hunger was a growing concern. Permanent food stamps were placed after Nixon became president. It seemed as if the whole world was upside down. Cedar Hill was not an exemption from the haunting year of 1968.
By Megan Riches3 years ago in Horror