Who is Sugar Day?
I am Sugar Day
There are stories that play in my mind
Stories of amazing and extraordinary people
Doing amazing and extraordinary things
Stories of worlds destroyed and built
Stories of lives changed
Stories of weakness and Strength
I am Sugar Day
Do you want to hear a story?
About the Creator
Sugar Day
Sugar Day (hoping from the heart)
Keep reading
More stories from writers in Poets and other communities.
If Evil, Why Cute?
It starts like this, fair readers: It's the early morning, and I've just stolen the last cup of coffee from the pot. I open up my brainstorming journal to scrappy pages, my laptop primed upon a dusty, glowing white screen; words either already written or about to be written upon the blank spaces.
By Amanda Starks4 days ago in Humor
At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rolly5 days ago in Horror
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.