A grave mistake_Meet by the fire._My Fourth (and Last) Attempt at Being Mortal_Tree Dream
Catalog Guide:
A grave mistake
I felt nervous as I entered through the gates of the old grave yard, every year my best friend and I would come and spend the night hoping to contact the dead. We usually try for family members that have long passed away or dead celebrities nothing to really write home about, this year was going to be different. I was hoping to contact the infamous serial killer Ted Bundy, before you make judgments let me explain why. You see I had a paper due for my criminal history class on the inner working of the mind of a serial killer. But because he is long dead I thought just maybe I would be able to c...
Meet by the fire.
Day 4062, he counted as he watched the brilliant amber light of the rising sun reach over the expanse of flower filled rolling hills to reach this magnificent manor, the house accepted the warm embrace in a sickeningly peaceful solitude. The sign should be here any day now, he thought, watching the beautiful sight in agony, waiting for the day he will be released from this prison. ‘Thomas!’ the young master squawked from his bedroom behind Thomas. Fuck, he felt himself sucked back into his uncomfortable and embarrassingly flagrant suit as he assumed his not so flagrant role.‘Yes, young one?’ T...
My Fourth (and Last) Attempt at Being Mortal
Honestly, the afterlife is overrated. Well, at least it is if you chose the path labelled “Ghost” (I can’t speak for “Vampire”, “Olympus” or “Llama”, but I’m sure www.onedoor.ccI could find you someone who could tell you about those paths some other time). What can I say? I may or may not have still been a little (okay, a lot) drunk at the choosing time. Note to self: when a shady old lady offers you a vial labelled “poison” on Halloween, she’s probably not joking.I mean, you’d think that being a ghost, I could haunt houses or leave ominous letters to the mortals or something along those lines.But, newsfla...
Tree Dream
“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat,” Maia says to her son, Reese. Maia is stuck in the sky. She stands on tiptoes on a pale white branch the size of her calf. Her left arm reaches above her to grasp another branch, this one quite a bit thinner, and her other hand goes higher, higher into the sky, the pale and delicate fingers stretching, the tiptoes rising farther, but she still cannot reach the lemon she is grasping for. Her face is turned away from her son and upwards, towards the clouds, but still she speaks, loud enough for him to hear. “It’s all about your mindset, R...