I took lengthy whiles to adore your physiognomies before the moment where I could register how you spoke. I got hit at random upon one Tuesday noon filled with rain by how you stressed your syllables, and wound your ways in my heart when you spoke on literatures. It wasn’t how you spoke and what you touched upon. Rather, it was your vocal cadence sounds. If I could have, I might have made you speak for hours. Despite whether you spoke the equal terminology non-stop, I might not have minded; I knew it might enthrall. The greatest times were the moments where I did not know how you surrounded me, or how you were quiet throughout lengthy periods while I dozed. It was then I was able to discern you not far away and then smile with your vocal cadence intimacies in my ears. Do not ask me what it was like to hear you say my namesake; it could get sensed but never spoken. You entwined yourself in my cranium to where I was no longer someone who thought with their personal voice; at moments where I read, your vocal cadence handled narration duties. You captured my secondary senses in thorough fashion. A jubilant Wednesday saw you teach me how powerful associations were. I was in one mellow latte store along with my maternal figure, and enjoyed lunchtime, but contemplated the means by which I might have survived until the next seven-day period where I might have had another opportunity to see you; my maternal figure afterwards brought our lattes. I picked up the cups; when the smells
I am instantly met with unbearable pain in my head as I awake. I feel as if I am having an ongoing brain freeze and… wait no, that’s is not the right metaphor to use, it makes it sound like it’s a lot less painful than it really is. Rather, I feel like I have just been hit by a train going 200 miles faster than normal. I don’t understand why, but I’m so exhausted, as if I haven’t slept in days.
It was raining. I slowly strolled through the dark, dingy streets on my own. My clothes clung to my skin as the water soaked completely through leaving my limbs numb. Every so often a drop of rain would trickle down the back on my neck making my whole body tremble. The streets were completely deserted. It felt like I had been walking for ages, the cold had completely taken over my body to the point where I could not remember at time when I was warm. I had been walking around for hours, gathering my thoughts. I liked being alone. I liked the rain. The rhythmic sound of the rain bouncing off the pavement relaxed my body and allowed me to connect with myself. I spotted at a park across the road. I walked over, sat on the bench and tensed my
awn approached. Young Queen Audra referred to this time as the quiet hours, the time of day when all fell silent and most people remained locked away in restorative sleep and pleasant dreams.
Snaking its way through the dense underbrush, the long procession of horsemen ducked and weaved through drooping limbs and protruding branches. Dathon grew increasingly frustrated as the infernal woods went on and on, stretching east for miles in clumps so dense he lost sight of almost everyone around him.
Scuffling just out of sight, the creature sniffed the air and reared it 's head. It caught her scent. It 's leathery black skin made it easier to disappear into the shadows of the forest they were in. The people it was hunting had no such talent.
His name was Cwedolscead. He had not chosen the name and he was not aware of who it might have been who gave him the name. But he cursed them to the rankest, most festering depths of hell, which no doubt, was where they resided anyway. The name was not assigned at his birth, when the first haze of his dark nascent energy belched forth from the blackest hearts of humanity, but came later, the word spewing unbidden from the nadir of damnation, floating on the stench of brimstone to swaddle itself around him, as his disparate strands coalesced into a conscious, if formless being.
‘- it was we who did the dispossessing, took traditional lands and destroyed traditional ways of life-’
I slam bolt upright, gasping out of the dream. My hands burrow into my sleeping bag, fingers clutching the fabric, grounding me back into reality. No one else is awake, so I sit there, trying to manage my hyperventilation, unable to understand how a dream can feel so real and still be a dream. I can’t shake the feeling of the blood oozing through my fingers, so I unzip from my sleeping bag and stumble out of the tent and into the frigid night air.
“Mother” shouted the wispy young girl, swinging her long blonde braids in the bright sunlight as she shot out of the little stone house with its big windows, “as the sky is so blue today and the water so tempting, please may I go down to the beach whilst you are at work?”
“I was thinking we could go out to The Grand tonight for dinner then stay at the boat,” Jamison suggested over the phone.
I feel the rain pelting down on me as I ran across the faded footpath. I blame myself for not bringing an umbrella even when I was compelled to. I find some place to stand under a bus stop. I stand there shivering as the cold seeps through my skin. My long hair is dripping wet and so are my clothes. I think of calling my mum to pick me up but that’s not what I was here for. I didn’t come all the way here for nothing. I have been waiting for this for a whole year, I can’t possibly back out of this.
Careful not to make a noise, though it wouldn’t matter if I did, I crept over to my victim sprawled across the floor. One, two, three. I pounded a nail into my target’s head. The satisfying crack of the skull filled the room. Around me, a pool of blood began to form. Trapping, encasing, stopping me from moving. The thick liquid moved with a purpose, though I doubt it knew what that was. Slowly, then all at once, the color drained from his face, like watching the credits of a movie fade into the screen. Gone. Until next time, but, unlike a movie, he didn’t have a next time. Sirens wailed in the distance. They’d be here soon, but it didn’t matter. They were always a couple seconds behind me and that’s all the time I needed to escape.
It happened once a year. Going to my grandparents house by the lake. I 've always loved going. Fishing, swimming, even campfires, we had them all, It 's like the perfect vacation for free.
I rolled out of bed and landed on the ruff discoloured carpet; I hadn 't vacuumed in months. I got up. I stretched out my ridged body. I fumbled to the door, not being bothered to switch on the lights. My tongue was dry and I needed something to quench my thirst- soda. Once I entered the hallway, I was assailed by a blinding light coming from Savannah 's, my sister 's bedroom. Curious - I made my way towards her room as my eyes adjusted to the new-found brightness.
The morning started as it normally does, I woke up, ate breakfast, and walked to school. When I arrived everything was different, I looked around and saw police cars messly parked and swat trucks with the swat team marching out. There were people being thrown into the was back of a truck that had “all hail boxing day” spray painted on the side of the vehicle. I saw some members of the swat team marching towards me, I ran, ran as fast as a cheetah chasing its next meal. I didn 't get far because I wasn 't in very good shape so I couldn 't run. I ended up hiding in an alleyway under a dumpster so I could catch my breath. I stayed there for a little while until the cop cars and swat team were so far away i could no longer hear their sirens. I