Raine has been writing poetry since she was in seventh grade. She has written several poems, song lyrics, short stories and five books. Writing has been her passion for her whole life.
“CARRIE! JOSH!” Andrea shouted. She had woken up with sand in her mouth and blood in her hair. When she stood up she saw that the boat was engulfed in flames and was sinking fast. She looked around and realized she was alone. The island looked to be about a mile wide, the forest behind her was thick and dark, even in the middle of the day. She heard someone groaning and spun around to see Carrie stumbling toward her.
The outside world was unknown to her, but she could see a glimpse of it through the window in his room. The rooftops of the buildings that surrounded them. The streets down below, people peppering the sidewalks as though they were ants marching to and fro a million miles away.
Beyond the Moon
Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. But has anyone thought to question whether or not you can hear yourself? And that's what she thought about as she stared out the small window at her only escape. As the space station floated through the endless void, she was alone. Well no, not completely alone. But maybe that wouldn't have even been much better than her current circumstances.
The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. No one was there to see when it lit up, but it was felt. There was a chill in the air. The forest grew silent. Ground animals went into their burrows and the birds nestled tighter in their nests and a few miles from the cabin a group of hikers trudged uphill slowly.
Masque of the Black Death
Once upon a midnight dreary, as I sat lonesome and weary. I thought of all the events of the night before. My deepest fears now confirmed that I was to blame, of all the ones who have gone the same way before. Carrier of the disease, survivor that I am, immunity a blessing and a curse. On the day of Hypomone, the fall of Constantinople and the death of Constantine XI, so we celebrate the birth of the helpful, Ruin of the twenty first year. With décor and aesthetic of the macabre, beauty and of fear.