Yvad Ssird
Bio
Some things that fly there be,—
Birds, hours, bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.
Some things that stay there be,—
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.
There are, that resting,rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!
Stories (3/0)
In the lake
It was a dead-quiet weekday night, and I was safely tucked in my single- room dorm bed, scrolling through my phone. A while before, I shut all the lights off, only to leave the flame-colored desk lamp as the only source of light in the room. It was a comfortable setting after a day of hard work and a busy college schedule. The phone screen shone bright directly into my face while I checked the last late night posts on my social media feed before bed. Suddenly, the door to my balcony flung wide open, sending the curtains reeling uncontrollably into the room. My heart thundered inside my chest as I stared, frightened, at the gaping space between the inside of the room and the outside. Nothing had alerted me of a brewing storm in the middle of spring; nor had my weather app. I posed the phone on the nightstand and reluctantly got out of bed.
By Yvad Ssird3 years ago in Horror
The Tree
It was a dead-quiet weekday night, and I was safely tucked in my single- room dorm bed, scrolling through my phone. A while before, I shut all the lights off, only to leave the flame-colored desk lamp as the only source of light in the room. It was a comfortable setting after a day of hard work and a busy college schedule. The phone screen shone bright directly into my face while I checked the last late night posts on my social media feed before bed. Suddenly, the door to my balcony flung wide open, sending the curtains reeling uncontrollably into the room. My heart thundered inside my chest as I stared, frightened, at the gaping space between the inside of the room and the outside. Nothing had alerted me of a brewing storm in the middle of spring; nor had my weather app. I posed the phone on the nightstand and reluctantly got out of bed.
By Yvad Ssird3 years ago in Confessions
Thinking of her
The wind rattles the auburn leaves on the trees lining the pavement of my apartment complex as I watch the cigarette smoke twist its way from my hand up the gray autumn sky patched with thin white clouds. The air smells of the roasted coffee and pastries they serve in the Starbucks coffee shop down the street.
By Yvad Ssird3 years ago in Humans
