winterlotus
The thought was there. Lurking, swimming inside her skull like a haunted spirit. This was her fault. She would be blamed. She had disobeyed. Worse yet, she had disappointed. How would she cope? How would she make him understand, forgive, forget?
We could hear them closing in on all sides. Although there was no sight of them yet, you could sense the ominous events that were about to take place.
A lone howl from the right, a low growl from the left, rustling behind us, snarls in front. We were helplessly cornered. We were going to have to band together, arm ourselves as best we could with rocks and sticks, if we intended to make it out of the woods alive.
Her hair was a mess, the clothes she wore ragged and filthy. The sight of her made most people ill. But I knew her differently. I knew the kind of person she was, her personality, almost her soul. She was good and gentle. She was pure and sweet. Her inward beauty needed sadly disguised from most by her outward appearance.
I like violent movies. My entry today is pretty weak, it's still early and I'm not really in the mood to write.
Her voice is shrill, unbearably loud. It's almost like hearing a tea kettle through a megaphone. It would be tolerable if she had something important to say. Or at least something intelligent. But this, sadly, isn't the case.
His stupid jokes, his constant picking on me. The way his eyes lit up when he saw me, his crooked but genuine smile. All of these things made me lust for him. Although his body was delicious, just his essence drove me wild.
I would never have predicted that this word would stump me quite as much as it has today.
He turned then and walked to his car. As he pulled out of the driveway, one word rang clear in her head. He was a thief. He had taken from her everything she held dear. Her love, her cunning, her trust. And yet she couldn't help but look after him, taillights disappearing into the darkness, and hope that he would return. She hated him for that, but that wasn't enough.
She had never been hogtied before. Bound, hand and foot, behind her back. She tried to gaze around the room, but it was too dark, the candles lit sporadically around didn't shed enough light. She could hear him behind her, somewhere, gathering supplies to torture and pleasure her.
She tried, vainly, to struggle against her restraints. She could feel the cold of the steel chains brushing against her legs. She knew she couldn't escape, but she wanted to see his reaction. She only heard him chuckle quietly to himself. She felt like a pretzel, twisted into his fantasy. How she loved the bonds of his affection.
I had a mole removed once, it was pretty gnarly. This doesn't seem like a very good word... I guess I could go the route of talking about a "mole" within an agency, someone who gets word "underground". But no, I'll stick with the gross mole I had removed. Eww.
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