I only come out when the sun goes to sleep; that's when dark and mysterious things happen. I've seen many things. I'm as old as the Earth itself, for I was created at the same time as our planet. I see the night, and I watch everything ominous. Such was last night.
I got in the shower, letting the hot water wash over me. Looking down I saw blood; it covered the floor. It looked as though it was clogging the drain, I closed my eyes trying to unclog it, but all I wanted to do is gag at the metallic, copper smell. I finally opened my eyes to dry and the water was clear. I turned the water off hesitantly watching the water drip from the tap.
The lights in the city began to set to a dim glow, as though they were the eyes of God beginning to close after the long day of watching over civilians in the city of New York. It was as though the night was a symbolization of the last visitation. That night was the end of the relationship of a woman, a beautiful woman, named Candice. The only way I could describe her complexion as a woman that men would best describe as beautiful and extravagant, with hair that reached an exquisite length, passed her shoulders, with a tone of Autumn and eyes that are like a brown pool of melted chocolate that twinkle in the sun and moonlight. Candice always wore amazing white dresses that represented her purity and class, as well as her bright white smile. She’s beautiful, and unfortunately, I had to leave her on the day of February that resembles intimacy and affection between passionate couples and married individuals. It was valentine's day, and due to the circumstances of my career life stood in the way of our burning love and devotion; I had to leave her. Our love was like butterflies crawling against the skin every single time our lips touched. That day, as I broke it to her, she took it as a kiss that impaled her heart with a look of shocked melancholy. She gazed at me with such confusion, and despair. She barely was able to stutter the words the words, “Steve, you’re leaving me on Valentine's day?”
Andrew sat at the table, his mind racing with feelings of a dreaded nostalgia. He placed the letter he had written on the small wooden table. It was a cold and rainy December night. The rundown walls of the shack provided only a facade of cover from the storms. The sound of rain hammering down on the rusty tin roof drown out all other noise. The light of the lantern flickered, casting ghastly shadows on the walls. Andrew had never liked the woods, yet here he sat, in a rustic shack in the middle of the dark forests of upstate New York. He reached into his pocket, feeling the cold metal of the .44 in his pocket. He drew the gun and stared blankly at it. After all these years, this was how it had to be. He knew what he needed to do. Andrew checked the chamber one more time, as if some specter may have stolen one of the shiny brass bullets. He wondered if anyone would find him, all the way out here. As far as he knew, he was the only one who knew where the shack was, besides its deceased previous owner. The thought of Mr. Ed made Andrew shudder. It had been years since he last saw the old man. Andrew slowly set the gun down on the table and pulled a small black notebook and pen out of his coat pocket. Shivering, he began to write, and recount what had happened all those years ago......
A bony hand held a pocket watch as the hooded figure stood outside of a hospital, it was almost time. The reaper made his way into the hospital, slowly making his way through the halls until he came to the room number 203. This room belonged to an older male in his 70s, his clock showed five minutes until it hits zero. The reaper slipped in and stood in the corner and watched as the man held on to his wife's hand for his last moments. Thirty seconds left, the old man spots the reaper in the corner and gives a soft, sad smile. The reaper bows his head and moves closer putting his hand on the mans shoulder. The monitor is a direct sign that the old man has moved on. The wife sits there crying and holding his hand praying for his safe passage into heaven.
I sat awake yet again at 3am, wishing I could just get some sleep. The wind roared outside with the storm that battered the house and shook the trees. 'This is great.' I thought. 'No sleep and a long day tomorrow. Maybe counting sheep? No what am I 12?' I paused my thoughts before releasing an exasperated sigh. 'One. Two. Three. Fou-' BANG! The sound rang loudly through the house urging me to sit upright and look around the room. I strained to listen for any other indicator that someone had broken in but my ears rang with the dead silence of the place. With a shrug I laid back down to resume my childish sheep counting. 'Five. Six. Sev-' BANG BANG!!!! Again I sat upright, my heart picking up pace with the numerous possibilities of what could've caused the sound or, where it might have come from. I swung my feet to the floor and grabbed the flashlight off my nightstand. BANG! The sound rang out again making me jump. I steeled myself as I reached the door and flung it open.
Again, I woke up not really remembering what had happened although I knew I felt as if my body had been dismembered. It was horrible not knowing what I had been put through.
When I pulled into my parking lot this evening, I saw a strange, black shape on my roof. It was small and from a distance looked like nothing but a piece of trash. I noticed my cat calmly sitting beside this strange mass and assumed she had just been rummaging around garbage cans again and didn't think twice about it.
How can you tell someone what you have experienced when you don't really know whether you believe it or not? Well, one day you may come across yourself being in this exact position, whether you had planned to or not. However, I thought I'd share some of my experiences with you of these horrifying times that I have experienced.
The night was nearly pitch black, and the cold rain just made it harder for me to see. I almost didn't see the woman standing beside the bench. Her rain-soaked hair covered most of her pale face, but I could see that she wore a medical mask. She looked away when I approached, almost as if she were avoiding me. Maybe she thinks I'm a mugger or something, I reasoned with myself. I tried not to let her antisocial behavior bother me, especially since I wasn’t feeling very social myself. Neither of us said a word as we waited for the last bus of the night. I pulled my phone from my pocket, but my battery was dead. I frowned as I searched for my portable charger, only to find that it had somehow slipped out of my bag. The single-strip light that bathed the bus stop in its dim glow started to flicker. The hair on the back of my neck stood on edge as my eyes struggled to adjust. I feared that the light would soon burn out and I didn’t want to be left in complete darkness with the strange woman. I tried not to look at her, but I felt like she was inching closer and closer to me.
Hello, my name is Isabel. I have a dark story to tell. For fifty years on end, I have been in the space between the living and the dead, watching the man I used to love slowly become a empty and demented shell. Alone he sits in his room, surrounded by white walls; nurses and doctors regularly patrol the halls.
Her chest heaved, searching desperately for air, as her body weakened with each step. She had been running for so long.