psychobookgirl13
The first time I ever had brunch was at a Sunday luncheon. I was not one bit religious, but my parents were devout believers, so we attended church every Sunday without a break. The brunch was, to say the least, eye-opening for me.
The old swing creaked in the wind. Years had passed, decades even, and still it remained. It taunted her, it's faded yellow paint a reminder of how things had once been, of how brightly and hopefully she had thought of the world then. Oh, how things have changed . . .
The door opened with a gentle hiss as I stepped into the office. Cool air hit my face as I stepped in. Another day of work, another day of prison.
The preachers have come again. To the town where almost half the people have already left, following in their crazy cult ideas. I guess this time they want the rest of us. But we will try to resist. We will try as hard as we can not to let them turn us like they had the half that had left, into people that weren't even recognizable after the preachers did their work on them . . .
The threads wrap around me, twist about my body like a snakes. I had thought I could control them, thought I was strong enough. But I wasn’t. My arrogance would prove to be my death, a death drowning under a thousand grasping threads.