Elizabeth T. Grey
A young writer, and always trying to improve. Feedback accepted and encouraged. ❤️
Elizabeth T. Grey
A young writer, and always trying to improve. Feedback accepted and encouraged. ❤️
A young writer, and always trying to improve. Feedback accepted and encouraged. ❤️
A young writer, and always trying to improve. Feedback accepted and encouraged. ❤️
Sitting at my desk, I stare at the picture of the girl. She was dead. At least, she should have been. But here, in the photo in my hand, she was smiling, alive, happy. And unaware of me, standing away from her, taking pictures of the trails and trees.
They had told me she was dead and had shown what I thought had been proof. They were lying, it seems. I slammed the photo onto my desk, standing s...
When I was little, my biggest fear was my mother wouldn't come home from work. Even as a child, around four or five, I understood that war was everywhere. If not a physical battle, the tension charged the air wherever you went. Even in our own home, dinner was eaten in stiff silence at the table. My father and mother disagreed on politics, Mother siding with the king and Father with the rebellion....
When he'd imagined her coming down the aisle, he'd never pictured her in a casket. The sun shone down on the coffin, setting off a gleam to the sleek black that could only be accomplished with the backdrop of death. Simon stood with his hands clasped behind his back, a blank expression masking his face. To his right, Bethany dabbed at fake tears with a tissue. James had his arm around her, a solem...
As the hazy light filtered through the trees, I examined the body in the water. She was covered in blood, nearly unrecognizable. I took the moment of peacefulness and stayed there. A cool calm fell over me, my breath suddenly becoming steady, my mind clear. And then, I pulled.
The girl gasped and sat up. For a moment, she stayed in the shallow water, staring up at me with ice-blue eyes. Silence ...
Love is sick. I Poison. Kill. Destroy. Yet here you are, standing before me, asking for it. Wanting death from a kiss, to have and hold the one thing that cannot be obtained. Your fingers, skidding over my body, dangerously near destruction.
Should we? Both dying together? It's poetic, no? Breaking open each other's rib cage, holding our most vital organs. Seems as something lovers would do. Thi...
Amidst waters vast, engulfing space,
Slowly descending, a delicate pace.
Blindly seeking, my hand finds yours,
Reassurance sought in dark contours.
In the sinking abyss, a glimmer appears,
Light surrounds us, calming fears.
Chest burns, yet joyous voices rise,
Found you, found you, my heart replies.
Cold hands entwine in the darkened sea,
Rising swiftly, our spirits set free.
A trade of lives, d...
Once upon time, there was me. Me, knowing exactly who I was, comfortable in my own skin. Perfectly fine with who I was and who I had become.
Now?
I don't who I am anymore. Now, I don't think I've ever been that person. That good girl. The girl who loved herself, and loved other people. Now, I don't think I ever wanted to be that person, but I never did anything to challenge it.
Always being ...
I woke up screaming. Blankets and clothes stuck to my skin, drenched with sweat. I ripped the covers off, knees bashing the concrete floor. Air. I needed air. I couldn't breathe. I was dying. Where was I?
Doors slammed shut in the distance, footsteps pounding. I didn't care. I couldn't breathe. My stomach twisted in on itself, and I hurled. Hands tried to lift me off the floor, but I fought, lash...
As the hazy light filtered through the trees, I examined the body in the water. She was covered in blood, nearly unrecognizable. I took the moment of peacefulness and stayed there. A cool calm fell over me, my breath suddenly becoming steady, my mind clear. And then, I pulled.
The girl gasped and sat up. For a moment, she stayed in the shallow water, staring up at me with ice blue eyes. Silence ...
Gone. My brother is gone. It’s been weeks, and still no sign of him. I think back to when we went running a few months ago. He was paranoid. Every few seconds stopping to look behind us and pushing me away from whatever or whoever he thought was there. I thought he was losing his mind.
Now, as I’m walking home from school, I’m starting to believe maybe he wasn’t. Where we lived was a small, quie...