Wraith

Wraith

The little girl at night wept.

It is no use, no time to pray.

The family man could hear her.

His time is about to end.

What a pain! So much despair!

Since the failed business, his destiny has been set.

The unrelenting foreign sorrow,

Is the hunter for such bad men.

Trapped inside his home alone.

There goes Mike O.

He was drained of blood.

Every single associate is now cold.

"I didn't do it," he shouted.

"It's not my fault, you know!"

But the walls answered with blood.

And he hears the creaking floor.

"Please! Don't come closer!"

He fired into the empty hall.

Midnight was announced by the grandfather clock.

Now her presence is seen in the corridor.

On his knees, he crumbles.

Praying to deaf gods

She touched his shoulder.

All her pain flowed into his soul.

Before being drained of blood.

He saw through her eyes what he had done.

He felt short of breath,

His finger nails are hot as hell.

He made the mortal order.

For a crime she witnessed herself

She was buried alive.

Thus sealing his twisted fate.

Ah yes! Antidepresants!

You can't be depressed if you are uncouncious...

Random idea for a fighting game character: three little bear cubs on top of each other, wearing a trenchcoat.

Those heavy moments shall end soon

Feeling the green under my feet

Letting the cold air caress my cheek

Eyes closed, eating my own dreams

Recalling those night drinks

I'm balancing over the knife edge.

So long, I'll miss you, old friend.

Fresh toast, fried eggs

That morning was a living hell.

I woke up from such a sad slumber.

I poured me some cold water.

Someday, the nightmares will be over.

Now, they are inside my brown jotter.

Writing dialog 2:

Two friends were drinking ice tea on top of a bridge, overlooking a dead road.

-"So... how was your week?" Asked Suzzane, mixing some sugar in the cold infusion.

-"Nothing out of the ordinary; I went to a cemetery," said John, sitting on the bridge's guardrail.

-"Thank god you didn't do anything weird! what happened? was someone you knew?"

-"No, the professor recommends that I see some scultures for my anatomy assignment," answered John nonchalantly, serving himself another glass of tea.

-"Let me get this right," said Suzzane, with a contagious smile. "When someone says sculture, do you think of cemeteries?"

She had a quirk when talking about something funny; she would move her hands as if they were a tennis fan, moving his head from one opposite side of the field to the other in mere seconds.

-"No, it wasn't my first pick; museums aren't cheap, you know." John almost choked on his tea. He was about to ask Suzzane about her week when suddenly heaven became real and in technicolor, a great roar could be heard from miles, John almost lost his balance from the guardrail, the silvery light became lighting shooting upwards, breaking that afternoon's peace in the valley, shaking bones, breaking glasses, and damaging eardrums. The rocket, the last wonderful thing humanity created, was now in high orbit, leaving a white, fluffy cloud where it once flew.

They were rigid, looking upwards, not in glee as Suzzane's little brother, but with disdain. The first rockets were a great talking point among the people of the valley, some sort of privilege and pride they share and show like a medal to the region, "They are close to the stars!!" Would said journalists but now it's more like a nuisance. The Mac's and Roudy's were the first families to leave, followed by the Carlson's and the Evans. Soon the grand majority of the town was a collection of empty spaces, lost in time while the future was roaring and flying no more than 6 miles from them.

Suzzane broke the silence.

-"The old tongues said that winter and fall were below 68 degrees, and that the rockets brought longer days and shorter nights." Said Suzzane contemplating the amber liquid flowing from the broken glass.

-"I went to the cemetery because it's quiet, no packs of people, no flashes, no laughs. I mean, what kind of museum puts on display bright colors and chalkboards? Cemeteries have that hidden effect on us; it's no place to be joking; it's solemn. A radiography of time, where different art styles and movements solidified for eternity, did you know that the real Gioconda was burned for her smile? Cemeteries have this aura of the past, the unbearable past, where all the bad, decadent, and violent were normalized, a place where museums go to die, where memories are set in stone, crimes and regrets are visible for you to be horrified or wonder, not only did I finish my sketches, I came with horrible conclusions."

But before John could elaborate, another wonder of humanity rose free from gravity. A deafening chorus made by millon dammed souls.

In order for something to prosper, other things or someone must be wretched.

-"I'm sorry about your father. I know things seem bleak, but he will get a job really soon." Said Suzzane, enveloping the broken glass in newspaper.

-"Thanks, it was a long week." John sighted, jumped from the guardrail to Suzzane, helped her put the glasses in the basket, and they started to descend the bridge.

-"My little brother is obsessed with space; he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up."

-"Good for him, I guess; at least he doesn't need to commute that much from here."

And they walked together, alone, in the middle of the dead road to their homes.

Seriosly, how on earth people write a lot lot like novels and encyclopedias?