xgraciex22
The chill of that Sunday night blew behind her ears; the flame in front held her hands and kept her warm. There were more people around the bin fires that night. Nomads with blank calendars and unwritten itineraries. She enjoyed this silent community where seldom words were spoken and pasts were left untouched.
His brow crinkled together like the folds on a bulldog. Even though it was Friday, his cheeks drooped to the floor and dragged his eyebags down. The others chuckled and clinked their sloshy drinks while he circled the rim of his glass with his index, as he had been for the past hour. Occasionally, a friendly-faced gentleman would come and pat him on the back but every time he would slowly shake his head with eyes cast on the condensation melting away and diluting his beer, already beaten by the ice cubes.
All I want is you. Specifically you.
The morning light creeps in over the silken folds of the blanket and graces my toes with its touch – warm. I gaze out at the balcony where beating hearts and breaths used to mix. My hand sweeps over the space next to me where the light has not yet touched – cold.
The morning light creeps in over the silken folds of the blanket and graces my toes with its touch - warm. I gaze out onto the balcony where arms and lips used to lock. My hand sweeps over the space next to me - cold.
Black scarab beetles raced over his bare toes in the abyss. At least, he imagined they'd be black - only the darkness gave colour.
Aeryios clutched her spear tighter, sprouting white claws from the tips of her fingers. The cityscape crumbled into the abyss below along with the howling of crushed souls. Kane placed his hand on her shoulder and slowly shook his head. His head was lowered but she couldn't tear her eyes from the consequence of her actions.
She sat crumpled in the corner. The fading crone had a pale beak protruding from her face to the floor. Her eye bags were hidden behind circle glasses with bits of mould around the edges from the many attempts to clean it with stale breaths. Anna stood there unsure if she should feel pity or disgust. Instead, she recalled the memories of tea and biscuits, and that rosey pot pouri fragrance which was often too strong but grandma's sense of smell had gone with the years, along with her own memories.
Her smokey breath hailed the yellowing autumn leaves as they glided to the stony sidewalk, only to be crushed under her Timberlands. The air hung hollow yet musty over Jane's red, frayed hoodie which competed the leaves for its vibrancy. Her thick false lashes angled downwards as she smacked her naked lips around the pick in between her teeth. Her father hadn't said a word to her when she left the house that morning. Neither did she to him; she knew he was a busy old man.
My worth is in Jesus Christ, the Son of God and His chosen King, who was crucified and raised to life to buy me back from sin and eternal punishment.
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writing since 2013 · 73 entries · 71 days shown up
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