The Coventry Cloaked Creeper._In the dark._Call it: Life_pluto
Catalog Guide:
The Coventry Cloaked Creeper.
'Yet Another Victim of the Coventry Cloaked Creeper.' My eyes skimmed the title of the newspaper article. I didn't need to read anymore. I'm the lead detective on the case. I already knew more than what was written. Well, it was The Sun, so there was most likely stuff in there that I'd never heard before. It's been going on for over six months now, last week was the ninth victim of the mysterious killer who murders their victims late at night and covers their bodies in yellow dye. The trademark of some sick inpidual, a sick inpidual that we know nothing about. There are no fingerprints on the ...
In the dark.
I was on my way out of the hospital when a storm came in out of nowhere. It was quite odd, as it was a warm summer day, not even a cloud in the sky. As the clock hit 10 pm, I cleaned up my desk as quickly as possible without causing a scene. I had a date with my new neighbor, who happened to love Chinese take out and a scary movie just as much as I do. I had been thinking about our date all day, it was the only thing I could focus on, it had been one of the slowest days of the summer, only a hand full of patients, most of them dumb teenagers who think they are invincible. I mean, what sixteen...
Call it: Life
I I see thwww.onedoor.ccrough my mother’s eyes. I am satisfied, she is satisfied. Her mother smiles down at her and takes the plate away. My mother’s heart skips a beat, I feel her rush to move. She wants to help. They both are in no position. They both could use another but have each other. There’s a sad smile on each of their faces. I feel full and saddened and excited and loved. It gets dark again. It’s wet and grey, and there something stale in the cemetery air. There are thunderous sounds in far off distances; train tracks and traffic flows close by in the city stream: as steady as the rain that seemed...
pluto
plutoBack then, nobody knew it but every couple of years I would try to speak. Only when no one is around-- just to see if I could still shape sounds from the sidewalk chalk outline of my larynx. But no matter what I would try to say, every inflection was just a garbled question. I didn't do it well. It's not like the voices I would hear or the words I read. There was sound, but I didn't recognize the language. It was more like a low fidelity recording of a cat's chirrup pawing at a cloud. My therapist said I should write these things down. I've learned just recently that I wa...