mythcreatorwriter
The forest rained with neon red. Her feet crunched the leaves on the stone walk. Her cloak made her bleed into the night.
The fibers of the broom swept the dust like flies into the air. The house felt heavy in my lungs, not just because of the spacious white and sights in the corner of my eye.
"I don't need your charity." She snatched the keys from my hands, fumbling with the door lock. April always forgot which way to turn the key.
I sighed. The sky grew dark, the heat of lightning seizing up the sky like veins.
A crash behind me, through the dense trees. The box in hand shook as my feet stomped on the hard ground bitten with frost.
Misty dreams, starry nights was all she thought about. Sitting in her chair, the world passed her by. Her pencil balanced on her index finger.
When he was born, he had violet eyes. No, I'm serious. Light tinted violet in his half closed eyes, I swear. He grew out of them after a week of birth. I always missed those violet eyes. They were unique, a splash of something different during our parent's divorce. The car ride to the hospital led to endless lights and darkness, while I heard my dad yelling at me to get going. [...]
Darkness fell over my eyes; the plague had started. Shifts in the wind blew the smoke from his cigarette in my face.