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The moonlight pools, sickly, over the walls. A talon of breeze reaches out, curling towards the door. It opens just a fraction, then jams back against the frame.
It's no surprise that I can't sleep tonight. Might as well give up.
So I do. I slide out of bed and slip across the room, drag open the drawers and pull out some gloves. Ever since I've been here, my hands have been cold.
I grab my phone, kick open the door. I don't really know where I'm going, but I need somewhere that's not my room, with all those damp walls and a feel that's strangely heavy.
The Rosabel Curse - Chapter One.Day Three.
My bag is laid on the floor like it's dying, clothes spilling out, dripping down, islands on a floorboard sea. My hand reaches out, then pulls back as if the air itself wills against me.
Three days, and I haven't unpacked.
Three days, and the silence in this house is getting to me, whispering every time there's nothing there, turning shadows into creatures with teeth and scales.
Three days since I came here.
I've never been here before, of course I haven't. Someone like me would never have a house like this.
It doesn't stop it, though. The way that I've seen these rooms before.
Water breaks me out of my lull as it arcs down from the ceiling and splashes on the floor. Old houses like this must leak like they're in water. Not that I knew that until now.
I should get something to put under it, stop the puddle on the floor from expanding further into the dust. I've been sitting here what little of today wasn't spent sleeping, and I've done nothing,
Story...Raindrops scurried down from the sky, pooling in lakes on the tarmac before sliding down the steps and slipping over the sandbanks, reaching for the sea. On days like this in flood season, the whole scenery was a battle, the grey that covered water and sky fighting to swamp the misty vestiges of city and buildings, and from how it looked, winning.
The grey shrugged and shoved her sandwich back into her bag, deciding it was too soggy now for even her to eat.
It was a shame, really, and a bad one, too. When you were the weather, embodied as a living being, you kind of wanted to be able to control the weather, not have the rain slide cold down your back on a Monday just like all the rest of the tide of people that washed across the bed of shops and offices, tugging along bags that swung in front of them, behind them, at the side and in her opinion, bags were important enough.
The weather on Abington Stride stole bags. Sure, she tried to give them back most of the time, but after a
HG FanficIt's a beautiful day.
The sort of day when we'd be at Opal's, crowding over her TV as Victory Marshwater leant forward, blonde hair trailing almost to the ground, and flicked through the channels, searching for something on Laureth; the sort of day when Silver would slam her glass down on the floor and walk out, muttering something about Victory's obsession with her brother, only to come back in a minute later because even Silver knows that it's not Victory's choice to have be the sister of a Victor, however much she acts like it half the time. It's the sort of day when we'd all turn up to Training just to mess about in the lake, Victory flirting hopelessly with Copper, and I'd just sit back and gaze at the sky, at the way the yellow sun burst onto the blue, until Cayenne waved her hand in my face to tell me finally that we'd been kicked out for the day.
That is, it would be if it wasn't the reaping.
Instead, I'm running, scrambling up and slipping down through the sandy paths to the S
Short Story - Warrior CatsMarlyth looked up for the first time in what seemed like years, a curtain of dirty fur that may once have been ginger hanging over her eyes, blocking out half her vision. Her legs ached, and in the darkness, nothing to see, there was nothing to do but go on. A thin, ragged stray, crawling through pipes.
Somewhere before this, she had worried about a fox attacking.
Down here, she would be lucky to be fox food.
Sighing, she walked until the floor felt at least a little dry beneath her paws, and sat down. She could cry now, if she wanted to, but nothing came. No courageousness to explore new territory, no wishes for her old, safe kittypet life. Not even memories, let alone regrets. Just cold, blank exhaustion. But there could be any cats in here, and she was afraid even more now that she was this weakened. Standing up on shaking legs, she forced herself on.
There was a light at the end of the tunnel.
She could see it, or perhaps it was just her tired eyes beginning to hallucinate. Or perh
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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