cryingpoet

Chapter One Death Chamber "This is gross, guys," came a voice from a little girl, looking up to four other girls, all older than her.  Emmy pushed her broom once more over the cobble stone floor where blood had splattered and pooled.  The crimson liquid ran from the tile to it's cracks, only coming to settle in once more moments after she shoved it away.  She whined, "It smells!" Another girl, tossing forgotten miscellaneous organs together to be picked up and carried out to the dogs, spoke up.  "It's the smell of death.  Get used to it, Emmy.  It'll be the last thing you smell before you die just the same." The eldest stood, the four

Your Last Chance I've been hurt before, But you hurt me the most, I felt a spark, you felt it too We started talking a lot; we got to know each other, My feelings for you began to grow stronger, I didn't think that I could trust again, But I felt I could trust you I opened up to you, I let you in, I told you I loved you, how much I cared, You told me you loved me, You said you felt the same way too, You became more "open" with me But the closer we got, the more I learned, All I knew about you, wasn't completely true, Secrets were revealed, the picture grew clear, You weren't the person you made yourself seem to be But I didn'

There is talk of fever, Gossips mention death about. The doctors say keep away from the river, The populace wants to get out. Friends board up their houses, Others flee to the country. There is panic and people sickening, Everyone but strong Nathaniel, me. The food markets are closed, So no longer are we fed. Gravehaulers go by calling, "Bring out your dead." The graveyards are filling up, The news stopped as well as mail. Thomas the blacksmith said to me, "Nathaniel, you look so pale." There were yellow knobbed doors to mark the victims, That had yellow in their eyes. The blacksmith shop was one of them now, Those that hu

Sink. Set. Rise. Fall. The ocean is a magnificent thing. Always coming and going. Sinking and Setting. No wonder tourists flock to the beaches. Though a tourist. I am not. But I have flocked to this beautiful beach. Beauty. For my eyes have fooled me. This beach shows no sign of beauty. I see the depressed sand. Washing away from their home. Standing on the ledge. The sharp rocks below. They're what seems comforting. They represent a new life. As the wind picks up, I see the sun fade away. The clouds comforting it. From the view it just took in. I came here for a reason. Time to make that reason truth. I ready mysel