The Night - Original Writing

“Sorry but I need to talk to him,” I grabbed his arm and pulled him over to where Alex was standing, “Thanks for entertaining him while he is waiting for me.

face. She examined him, a smile on her lips. She missed him. His warmth. She spoke.

Jackson couldn’t take it anymore, so he leaned down and kissed his heart broken partner in hopes to help him calm down. As he pulled away, there was no more yelling, screaming, just quiet sobs escaping the lips of Alex. “I know it’s tough… I can’t imagine what you could possibly be going through, but I’m right here. It’s going to be okay.”

The light was flickering above now. Glancing up, I blink and squint before looking forward and focusing on the man in front of me. He is so much different than the lanky boy from moments ago, with a wider frame and more mature face. He has a moustache and a receding hairline that I’d laugh at in any other instance. For now, I relate to

“What in the world were you thinking Alex? Why would you even consider doing something so stupid and

He looked at me. I thought I saw concern flash across his face, but it was gone too quickly for me to be certain.

Her body language gave Hunter his answer, making his smile vanish. Quickly, Alex dropped to her knees in front of him and held out her hand.

“Y-you’re so brave a-and you’re doing the right thing,” you managed to sputter out through your choked cries. He shook his head and pulled you into a tight hug, the warmth of his body encasing you in something that felt like comfort. Something that felt like home. “I was being so selfish.”

Greg put a hand on the man’s shoulder and turned him around. At first the man’s face was a soft blur, but not he could make it out. He could see the hazel eyes peering through the moonlight.

I turned and looked at Ray. His eyes were closed, but I could tell that he wasn’t sleeping.

“I can’t take this anymore. I don’t want to do this to you anymore,” I sniffled.

“I don’t talk much it leaves me a lot of time to observe” he replied.

She strode into the room as elegant as ever, as if trying to be noticed, trying to be loved, trying to say something. Nothing moved in the silent room, as she walked in and observed it carefully, like a hawk stalking its prey. She became aware that she was now alone in the dark room, with nothing to notice her, to love her, to hear her. She walked over to the window and looked out into the night. The dark streets were silent, with not one light to be seen in the night. She closed her eyes and hoped, that when she opened them, she wouldn 't be alone anymore, that she would have a family to be loved by. But she knew in her heart that her hope was false, and she was still standing in the dark, now chilling room. Iris stood there, staring into the darkness of the empty room. The realization of being alone hit her like a silent explosion went off in the room itself. Iris was hopeless. She walked over to the dusty light switch that loomed in the corner of the room, as if to warn its visitors of what was about to be lifted from the shadows. Iris flicked the switch cautiously, and closed her eyes as the room enlightened. Iris slowly opened her eyes to adjust to the bright light, and observed the new perspective of the room. She looked around, and one thing was different. A boy. Sitting in an old chair on the far side of the room that looked as if it would collapse at any moment. Iris suddenly felt different. She felt a small spark of warmth deep inside her, gradually growing, making

In the beginning when she found the house, the door was behind overgrown masses of ivy. After hours of pushing and stumbling through the clinging fog like a psychotic savage in the silent and still hours she had found the house. Around 1 o’clock it was a great was a great relief for her to finally have some form of shelter. For many, they would have been frightened of the hidden crumbling rubble of the old Victorian cottage; but for her – it was her safe haven. But it was so lonely living like a hermit scared of the slightest sound. Whether it would be the withering wind or a snapping twig. She would roam around the house with an old rubbery candle as her only source of light. Every face in a picture would gaze at her. Their eyes following her everywhere – as if wary of her presence. The cobwebs strained to keep a formation as if they were waiting to breathe if the life out of the

“Oh my, I don’t know that I can handle anymore,” I said truthfully, not believing anyone could.