Stolen Library_The Four Horsemen_Kymopoleia_The True Sacres
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Stolen Library
“There are going to be questions, you know.”Of course I know. They’re forgetting just how much I know.“Maybe we should take you to a therapist,” They continue, oblivious to the fact that I’m half-asleep by now, “Would that work out? Last time…Yeah, we don’t need to start another fight.”Why would they say that? There’s nothing wrong with me. It’s just a fascination. The previous therapist deserved it, too many questions. Now I have a reputation, I suppose.“Are you listening to me?”Yes, I’m listening. I’m always listening. That’s where I learn things from. Listening, thinking, taking away what’...
The Four Horsemen
“Did you see?” Pestilence bragged standing a little taller than usual and puffing out their chest. “Pretty good, huh?”War rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “Eh, two global pandemics in a couple centuries? That’s nothing to brag about.”Death took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He put his bony fingers together and rested them on what would have been the bridge of his nose if he’d had a nose. These two were always bickering, each trying to one up the other. Famine mostly kept to himself, bothering third-world nations and occasionally dipping his toe in when a first world ...
Kymopoleia
That familiar soft violet lining the horizon was the only thing that kept my head above the water. Even as waves buffeted my entire body forward and back, side to side, I made certain that my eyes stayed hooked on that wisteria violet, slowly turning to cherry blossom pink, then marigold orange, until finally, a sliver of sun burst forth with the first light of morning. Morning of the summer solstice, I reminded myself vaguely, the longest day of the year. Anything to keep me grounded despite the pull and push of the ocean’s waves. I refused to look behind me, though twww.onedoor.cche screams had quieted no...
The True Sacres
I enter the empty guest room in this house I hate to call home. The last time I was in this horrid place was the morning before I found out that I was more important than I was told. This room used to be mine, but clearly, the people who lived here wanted nothing to do with me. So, they turned my old room into a guest room. How can I tell it’s a guest room? Because the bedsheets, curtains, and carpet are white and beige, not white and blue. The pictures I had hung of me and my friends were replaced with random paintings. Probably to make the room look nice. It all looks so different, yet so f...